


War is hell, but that's not the half of it...

by nothingwrongwiththerain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (pre-serum Steve Rogers), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxiety, Criminal AU, Developing Relationship, Drug Addiction, Fluff and Angst, Gang warfare, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Winter Solider Bucky, Skinny Steve, and then recovering, so basically pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwrongwiththerain/pseuds/nothingwrongwiththerain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Criminal AU. </p>
<p>Bucky Barnes is a drug addict, running out of friends and money. When Natasha finds him a job at a beat up record store, Bucky isn't sure what to think of the owner - Steve Rogers is taking on some moral crusade to protect the neighborhood from gang violence by working alongside the biggest and best of the underworld community. All Bucky knows is that there is no way in hell he is going to get involved in this. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! and welcome to my attempt at a multi chapter fic. Criminal AU means everyone is somewhat morally ambiguous and doing their own thing. 
> 
> Also, I have taken a somewhat different approach to the Steve and Bucky dynamic, where pre-serum Steve meets post-winter solider Bucky. It's fun. And sad. You'll see. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bucky was out of drug money, which meant he was also out of food money and at least 2 weeks behind on rent. The number of people who would have answered his phone call was predictably thin, but Natasha picked up on the second ring; so she was bored or had a job for him. In this case, both. Natasha, who knew everybody and could go anywhere, dragged Bucky to her boyfriend’s coffee shop under the pretense he had no friends and Clint’s Coffee was located near whatever back alley they wouldn’t be trading cash for envelopes in.

They had time to kill before the deal will go down; Bucky was bored before he set foot in the shop. He didn’t have money for anything, much less overpriced caffeine. The café wasn’t so terrible, really, because the customers this far out on the cities edge didn’t scare easily, wouldn’t give him so much as a second glance. 

Bucky knew his appearance wasn’t memorable anyways; that was how he liked it. Walking down grey, trash littered streets, people’s eyes slid right over another black clad guy in a torn leather jacket; he was part of the background. Unobtrusive without making himself a target, Bucky tied his hair back messily so he could stare others down, guarantee the only people who bothered him were too drunk or too high to comprehend the error of their ways. 

Tired of brooding in the corner, feeling the itch of sleep deprivation and a usually well-tended to addiction, Bucky left the coffee shop and wandered into the store next door. The weathered sign for Vintage Records held no particular interest to Bucky, but he was desperate to get his mind off how very, very much he wanted Natasha to hurry the fuck up. 

The store was cramped, but not uncomfortably. The afternoon sun was burning through the sweeping windows, posters and stickers plastered on the glass created odd shadows on the piles of boxes. Bright sleeves of records with faded cover art and worn corners were piled under and on top of the three mismatched tables. Boxes lined the walls; some balanced precariously between bookshelves and repurposed magazine racks. There was a doorway in the back, missing a door, obscured instead by a curtain, and Bucky could hear someone banging around. 

The battered material was pushed aside a moment later, some kid holding a box nearly as large as he was and filled to the brim walked out. 

“Be with you in a minute” he said, heading towards an empty slot on the wall. Despite the size of the box, which seemed to be threatening to squash the kid – not a kid, Bucky revised, watching, this blond 20-something in jeans and an oversized t-shirt – he moved without straining or stumbling. Shoving the box into its new home, he turned around and gave Bucky a once over. “Need something?” he asked, unexpectedly hostile. 

Bucky shrugged, dropped his eyes to the bin he’d been flicking through. He didn’t have to deal with some jumped up skinny blond with something to prove. 

“You can tell Pierce I’m not interested” Bucky turned back to face him, slightly annoyed. What the hell was he talking about? Bucky was hovering on the edge of saying something nasty, or threatening (as soon as he could think of something) when the door behind him jangled open. 

“There you are” Natasha said, moving smoothly around the merchandise. She glanced around, caught sight of the irate shopkeeper. “I see you’ve met Steve” She smiled. 

Bucky paused, caught off guard. Natasha didn’t smile at just anyone. 

“You giving Bucky a hard time?” Natasha asked, raising one perfect eyebrow. While Bucky was successful at blending in, Natasha accomplished anonymity without Bucky’s disparity of unclean clothes and unwashed hair. Wearing grey skinny jeans, a long cinched jacket and combat boots, she was mismatched enough to pull up her hood, duck her head and disappear, without losing any intimidation points. 

Steve had relaxed when Natasha prowled in, the opposite reaction Bucky was used to following Natasha arrival. “Can’t be too careful with HYDRA spreading out” Steve said with shrug. Natasha narrowed her eyes. 

“They came back in here” Statement. Natasha didn’t have to ask question. 

“Weekly now” Steve said mildly “last guy was packing, but it was Sunday. Way too many witnesses.” 

“You want me to inform Fury?” Natasha asked. Question. Bucky abruptly decided he shouldn’t make assumptions. Impassively bored with the talk of turf warfare he expressly avoided involvement in, Bucky flipped through a stack of records. 

“I can take care of the shop.” Steve said. Bucky would have sworn Steve sounded impatient, but that couldn’t be right. Nobody got impatient with Natasha. Wasn’t done. 

“Never said you couldn’t” Natasha replied, “But Nick would want to know. They asking for money?”

“Not yet” Steve sighed, moving behind the counter. “They’re just trying to figure out who I’m affiliated with”

“That’s adorable” Natasha said. Bucky was surprised at the warmth in her voice. Where was the drug running knife expert he backed up during late night sales? Why did Steve matter? 

“Surrounded as I am by the criminally successful, it makes sense. I figure they’ll change their minds about recruitment once they see Sam hanging around. White supremacists are funny like that.”

Natasha quirked her head to the side “You want a piece?”

“No” said Steve, hefting a baseball bat he had hidden behind the counter. “If I pull a gun, they pull a gun. I pull a baseball bat, they’re too busy laughing to threaten me.”

Natasha laughed. Bucky stared. “Their mistake” she said. 

The longer he stood in the shop, the more his confusion was mounting. He knew he was missing some vital piece of information, some distinct and bizarre explanation as to why or how this skinny little hipster ended up on Natasha’s good side. He didn’t even know she had one. 

“Well, we have places to be.” Natasha said, running a hand through her wavy red hair. Bucky perked up, ready to get out of the record shop. Whatever was going on, he wanted no part in it. Natasha promised him a fix. That’s why he came. Not to socialize. 

“Have fun selling drugs” Steve said with a grin. Bucky blinked. Yes, this nonsense was definitely nothing he was ever going to get tangled up in.

“Later” Natasha said. Bucky followed her dutifully out of the shop. 

“The hell was that?” Bucky muttered as she slipped him an envelope. 

“Steve’s an old friend,” she said smoothly. Bucky struggled to keep up as Natasha doubled her pace.

“Didn’t know you had old friends.” Bucky said. 

“No need to sound worried, James,” She said, scanning the streets “You’re still my favorite little addict”

“He’s a client?” Bucky could usually pick out people like him. Skinny Steve didn’t fit the bill. 

“Of a sort” she said, turning down a dusty alley. “Now shut up and put your game face on.” 

-

 

The deal went down without a hitch, expect for some minor threatening on Natasha’s part. Bucky stood in the back, glaring at his competition with his hand at his waistband, fingers reaching uselessly for an imaginary gun. 

“You know” Natasha said, as they wound their way back to Bucky’s ratty apartment complex. “If you want to earn some legitimate cash, Steve would probably hire you.”

Bucky snorted, nearly choking on a forgotten, half eaten candy bar he’d found in his jacket pocket. He hadn’t had a real job in like, ever. “Why would I do that?” 

“Because you live in a derelict building owned by a madman.” Natasha started, following him up the fire escape. Twilight settled in a while ago, the shadows were creeping on the peeling, rusted metal. “You hardly eat, and you’re buying second rate drugs.” 

Bucky grunted noncommittally, crawling over the car mat he’d placed on the frame of his broken window after scratching himself on the chipped glass one too many times. Natasha flopped on the threadbare couch he’d dragged in from down the hall, watching as he scrounged up a match to light a candle sealed by a mound of wax to his cracked, cinder block nightstand.

“You barely made it through last winter, James. I know you don’t want to lose any more fingers.” 

Bucky clenched his left hand reflexively. There were disadvantages to living here. Like not being able to climb the fire escape when he was black out drunk and falling asleep in the snow. Natasha had found him, dealt with his blackened fingers. He was down a pinky and half his ring finger. Something he still owed her for. 

“Plus, Steve’s like you” Natasha said, idly flicking though a Russian to English dictionary he’d left on the floor. “Not affiliated” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “I heard”

“Then what’s your problem?” her voiced gained its usual brittle edge. Bucky stuck his face in his hands. 

“Many” he replied, mumbling into his palms “I have many, many problems.”

“Well, so does he,” Natasha shot back, standing. “I’ll tell him you’ll be there on Monday. The shop opens at 8.”

“What?” she startled him into looking up “Tasha wait, I’m not–”

But she was already out the window. 

“Fuck.”

-

 

The weekend passed in a technicolor haze, even with Bucky’s intention to make it last. Bucky decided he would not be bullied into an actual job by a woman who made her living selling drugs. It was ridiculous, he steamed, as he dumped powdery yellow flavoring into his last package of top ramen. The electricity in the building was intermittent at best, but at least he didn’t have to pay utilities. He was getting by fine, it was hardly October and he could pick up a space heater next week if he wanted to.

So when he woke up unnaturally early on Monday – 6:30 by the still ticking hands of his cracked watch – shivering under a pile of blankets and hungry for food he didn’t have, Bucky caved. He’d give it a week. Try for one lousy paycheck, if his sure to be slipshod help was worth anything, and he’d prove to Natasha he wasn’t cut out for retail. Wasn’t cut out for much of anything these days. 

The OPEN sign wasn’t illuminated when he arrived, but the interior lights were on. Bucky pulled up short at the door, staring at the layers of stickers stuck haphazardly to the glass. Was he really about to do this?

The door swung open before he could make up his mind. 

“We’re not open – oh. Hey. Bucky, right?” 

Bucky had taken a step back when the door opened, quickly shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to frown at the blond kid staring him down. 

“Yeah.” Bucky said, “Tasha said you might have a job?” The words sounded funny, twisted in his mouth. Fake. 

“Something like that” Steve said, echoing Natasha’s snark. Despite the significant height difference, Steve had a no-nonsense air, scrutinizing Bucky offhand as Bucky stepped into the shop. They made for an interesting contrast, Steve’s clean tan skinny jeans and a blazing red t-shirt he was drowning in to Bucky’s black on black on black. 

“Did Natasha fill you in?” Steve asked, no bothering to turn as they headed for the back. 

“Not really,” Bucky replied, trailing behind till they passed the curtain separating store from storage. The room was a little larger than the store, but impressively cramped. 

Containers on boxes were piled to the ceiling, with a narrow slot open in the corner, basking in the glow of the exit sign. Steve was in the middle of the room, rolling out what looked like a map on the table. 

“Sounds like Natasha alright” Steve said, using a can of soda and a mason jar of pens to hold the curling corners down. “I’ll give you the crash course. After that you can take it or leave it.”

“Take or leave what?” Bucky asked, edging in on rude. The whole ‘mystery’ of this job was wearing thin. 

“The job” Steve said, looking at him expectantly under the glare of the halogen lights. 

“Fine” Bucky huffed. He’d leave if he had anywhere else to be. But he didn’t, hadn’t for a while now, and though he wouldn’t say anything, he was a little curious. 

“This is the few square miles surrounding the shop.” Steve said, flattening his hands on the map. “Shaded areas are various gang’s turf, post-its mark disputed areas”  
Bucky shuffled up to the table, taking in the grid of streets and wandering paths of a highlighter. Bright squares of color were alighted across the surface; pin pointing areas Bucky already knew to stay clear of. 

“People want drugs or guns or whatever,” Steve said “But since HYDRA started turning gangs against each other, no one knows who to trust. Things are getting messy, fast.” 

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head violently “This isn’t – I’m not getting tied up in gang stuff.” Bucky backed away from the table, more than a little spooked. Damn Natasha. What the hell was she getting him into?

“It’s not,” Steve said flatly. “I’m not connected with any. I work with individuals to keep civilians from wandering into the crossfire. I do risk assessment, not tactical support. I’m trying to lower the body count.” 

Bucky frowned at Steve’s conviction and phrasing. He got Steve’s meaning, but the whole things sounded oddly militaristic framed that way. 

“It’s not that complicated,” Steve said, waving a hand over the streets. “People talk to me – in turn I can keep toes from being stepped on. I know officers who will watch sales go down to keep HYDRA from interfering. I don’t stop any of it. I can’t.” 

“And you want me to do what?” Bucky asked. This entire crazy scheme was too much. Steve was disillusioned at best. 

Steve looked at him, puzzled, as if the answer should have been made clear by now. “Uhh...watch the shop?” 

“Like, what, protection?” 

Steve laughed, harsh and short. “I can protect myself.”

“Then what?” Bucky couldn’t imagine where this was going. 

“Stand behind the counter” Steve said, mildly amused “Man the register. Move stuff. Organize. Take out the trash. Shine shoes,” he added sarcastically.

Bucky drew back. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Steve affirmed, “Things are getting heated, but I can’t afford to close every time there’s new information. This,” Steve said, tapping the map “Doesn’t pay so well. Doesn’t pay at all, really” Steve muttered the last part to himself. 

“Why?” Bucky said, trying to put his thoughts in order, “Why tell me any of this?” 

“Because you deserve to know what you’re getting into,” Steve said, eyes hard “If you haven’t noticed, there’s war on.”

Bucky hadn’t heard it described quite like that before, but he couldn’t argue. When he arrived, the sirens used to wake him up, he never thought he’d get accustom to the shrieking. Gunfire sprinkled the night like firecrackers on the 4th of July, intermittent and unexpected and hopelessly excessive. Because of the consistent violence and failed attempts at control a supposedly civilized part of the world, there was no end in sight. Nobody cared. 

And here was Steve, some skinny punk with a bunch of connections trying to protect his corner of the map. Not really fighting – though Bucky was beginning to suspect Steve would be scrappy if it came to blows – but standing up for something in the middle of it all. 

Bucky’s stomach growled. The itch for another fix was manifesting as persistent finger tapping against his leg. Natasha was right. He needed the money. 

“Sure, alright,” Bucky said, straightening up from his slouch “I’m your man.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! I'm a little ahead of the game this week. Enjoy some additional characters and Steve being snarky.

Two weeks passed quickly, and Bucky forgot about his intention to bail. Having a job – a real one – wasn’t half as horrible as he led himself to believe. Sure, the hours were kind of long and the register was plotting against him, but he liked having someplace to be. 

The store seemed small, during the first week. Then Bucky started improving his mental map of where different genera’s liked to hide, how every stack of sheathed records had a number or color (or both, or neither) that correlated to some mountainous pile in the back. No wonder Steve was so wiry; every container was over packed and required serious hefting to move about. And that every customer selection was never on top, no, Bucky would have sworn the scuffed cardboard boxes rearranged themselves at will to complicate his life whenever he was given some oddly specific request. 

Initially, Bucky was suspicious of the exactness people requested, certain Steve was selling more than keepsakes and beat up hipster collector items. Sure, the majority of his customers were old – trekking down from the smattering retirement homes encircling the clinic a few blocks away – but they could have been mules. And yet – there was nothing to be found in the sleeves but the thin, grooved disks. No extra money forked over aside from the giggling old ladies stuffing $10’s in the tip jar if Bucky attempted to smile back. A smile Natasha repeatedly told him needed work. Steve caught him at it once and was beside himself after the women rolled out with their walkers. 

“So charming, Buck” Steve said, as he got his laughter under control. 

“I make less than this in an hour, Stevie” Bucky retaliated, fingers scrabbling to acquire the bill from the tin can with ‘college fund’ scrawled facetiously on the side. Steve had called him Buck last Wednesday, Bucky countered with Stevie and both names stuck. 

“True, true” Steve said, dragging one of the three step ladders strategically placed around the store, “But you’re selling yourself short. They didn’t really look your type.”

“And what would you know about my type?” Bucky said, pursing his lips and jumping his eyebrows. He didn’t mean anything by it, hardly expected Steve to blush and jerk around to adjust the ladder. 

“Nothing.” Steve said, more quietly then Bucky’d ever heard him. “You gonna sweep or what?” 

“I…yeah, sure.” Bucky said, still taken aback. Steve wasn’t…no. That was stupid, wishful thinking on his part. The record spinning out big band music in the corner ended with a hiss. Bucky crossed the room, thankful for a change in topic. 

“Your pick” Bucky said. 

“Is there any Kitty Kallen over there?” Steve asked, “She’s one of my fav– aw hell.” 

Bucky turned to see Steve leaning back from the unstable stepladder, staring out the window. 

“What’s the matter?” Bucky asked, craning his neck. 

“Those assholes are back.” Steve said. Bucky raised his eyebrows. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard Steve swear since he started working.

“What, the car?” Bucky wandered over, looked up at Steve towering over him. 

“Yes.” Steve said, jaw set. “I had Natasha ask around. They’re HYDRA.” Steve jumped off the ladder, made a beeline for the counter, muttering something about ‘no respect’.

Bucky watched, amused. Steve was nearly a foot shorter than him, but talked big in the best kind of way. 

“They’re not really doing anything,” Bucky said, turning back to the sleek red viper across the street. 

“It’s bad for business,” Steve said from behind him. 

“Not like there’s anything we can do about it,” Bucky said, squinting. The windows of the car were tinted, but he could make out two white guys inside. They had the engine on, heater probably cranked all the way up. It was the middle of October; the temperature was already dropping like a rock.

Bucky didn’t expect Steve to chuckle. “I don’t know about that” 

“What–?” Bucky cut off as Steve strode past with his red and blue baseball bat. 

“Buck, do me a favor and call the police, will yah?” Steve said conversationally, cruising past Bucky and sending the bells on the door tinkling. 

Bucky watched, dumbly, as Steve marched out across three lanes of traffic and tapped on the sports car’s hood with his bat. 

The window rolled down and jolted Bucky into action, tugging his beat up phone from his jeans and dialing 911. 

“911, what is your emergency?” the voice on the other end of the line was straight out of every crime drama Bucky had ever watched. 

“Uhh” Bucky realized he didn’t know. He watched the argument between Steve and the HYDRA guy grow more heated. Steve was holding the bat loosely, but leaning in too close and undoubtedly mouthing off. 

“Can you tell me your location?” 

“Vintage Records,” Bucky got out “I think we need the police?” Across the street, Steve was stepping away, waving a low hand. 

“On 37th street?” the dispatcher sounded both professional and exasperated. 

“Yes” Bucky confirmed. Steve had taken another step back. Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Dispatching a patrol car to your location. Can you stay on the line?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Wait –” Bucky watched, horrified, as Steve pivoted and brought the bat down on the slick windshield with an impressive amount of force. 

It was a stupid move. Really. Bucky stood, phone held awkwardly away from his face, torn between running out the back of the shop (because the shooting was going to start any second now, he could feel it) and yelling at Steve to run. He had to go, Steve needed to get out of there, not kick the driver side door shut when the guy behind the wheel was trying to get out and kill him. Presumably with a gun. 

The blaring whoop of a siren cut through Bucky’s paralysis, he jerked back from the glass door. Glass was no good. Not bullet proof. His brain was running a mile a minute, snagged between a deeply ingrained fear of cops and relief. 

Steve was out there waving – waving? – waving at the officers and calmly gesturing to the red sports car and the pitted, spider webbed impacts he’d made. Bucky peered past a poster. The HYDRA guy who climbed out of the car made an aborted motion, setting off the officers, who dropped their hands to their sidearms. Bucky tensed. Steve laughed. 

While the situation was hardly resolved, Bucky felt now was the time to resume sweeping. Wasn’t his business if Steve wanted to get tangled up with the law. With a sinking sensation, Bucky remembered his phone, punching the end of call button. He’d dialed up the police; his number was on file in some database somewhere. Great.

Bucky swept the store, under the tables and behind the counter for good measure. He was dumping a final pan filled with dust and wrappers into the trash when the door clanged open, letting in a rush of cold. Steve entered with three officers in tow, chatting away while Bucky’s insides turned to ice. Bucky wasn’t carrying, kept his stash away from work as a general rule, but cops made him twitchy. 

“Did a real number on that car” a broad man with a bushy moustache slapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling.

“Thanks Dugan” Steve said fondly, straightening up and swinging the bat easily. “Too bad nobody threw a punch” Bucky paused his slinking towards the storage room. Something was off. Steve sounded genuinely disappointed. 

“It is hard to file charges when you’re the one destroying property.” An Asian guy with his hat cocked back said, crossing his arms. 

“Besides” said the last officer, a black guy with a big smile “Much as we could use a break, HYDRA has a reputation for spraying bullets. You’re no use to us dead, Rogers”

“Thanks Jones” Steve said cynically, “And Mortia, I’ll keep that whole ‘not destroying property’ thing in mind. Very helpful.” Steve was a sarcastic little shit, Bucky would give him that. 

“Who called it in?” asked Dugan, leaning back against the counter “Driener didn’t recognize the voice.”

“Oh, Bucky did,” Steve said offhand, like it didn’t matter. Bucky, who was now inches from the curtain, booked it the last few steps to safety. He liked this job. But that didn’t include conversing with officers. 

The officers stayed in the shop for a good 10 minutes while Bucky pushed boxes around experimentally, halfheartedly adjusting the least stable stacks. When the door shut, Bucky took a deep breath and wandered back out, going for casual. Steve eyed him knowingly. 

“They don’t bite, Buck” Steve said. 

“Mhmm” Bucky was not interested. No sir. Steve could play out his suicidal tendencies to his heart’s desire; let the cops back him up. Bucky didn’t need this. 

“Let me introduce you next time” Steve said, honestly insistent, like that was not the worst ever.

“No.” Bucky didn’t want to waste time on this conversation. “That’s…just no. I’m not exactly a model citizen here Steve” 

“Never said you were” Steve said with a shrug. Bucky wasn’t sure if he should be content or insulted with Steve’s bluntness. “I’m not stupid. But it doesn’t hurt to know a few cops. If you let me do the talking.” 

“What, so we can be on a first name basis if I get arrested?” Bucky knew he was being a jerk, that his commentary was unlooked for and rude. Small wonder he never had a real job. 

“So they’ll let you off with a warning” Steve said levelly, flashing Bucky one of his stubborn looks. “They owe me”

“The police owe you?” Bucky didn’t bother to keep a check on his incredulity. 

“Heard about a bomb threat, called it in.” Steve said. “They got out of the precinct without it exploding around them.”

Bucky just stared. “For real”

“Yup” Steve pushed a hand through his mess of blond hair, not quite meeting Bucky’s eyes “Ask Natasha about it sometime, I always get an earful.” 

Bucky blinked a few more times, processing. “And now they let you trash cars.” 

“Something like that” Steve said. 

-

“If the other party – those HYDRA morons – don’t press charges, the cops technically can’t do anything” Natasha explained, curled up in an overstuffed armchair, facing Bucky. They hadn’t spoken much since Bucky started working (a term that still tasted strange in his mouth) so when Steve pushed Bucky out on a lunch break, he texted her on a whim. 

Turned out she was right next door, visiting Clint. She popped out and startled him, dragging him in to a couch. She proceeded to buy him coffee, because ‘he looked like he needed it’. It was possibly the nicest, most normal gesture he’d been on the receiving end of in months, so it confused him until he decided to not care. She asked him a barrage of questions about his job (as if Steve wasn’t filling her in) and he tried to respond in kind. Like a normal person, with an actual life. 

He told her about the towers of boxes and really old customers and how the cash register hated him and about Steve. Bucky talked about Steve more than he meant to, hadn’t realized he was paying that much attention to how the shop owner always arrived before him, drank sugared up coffee from an ancient coffee machine, didn’t wear a helmet when he rode his bicycle around on his mystery errands and owned a phone that was as old as Bucky’s. He finished with the story of the day – Steve versus the expensive sports car. Natasha was explaining how Steve got away with it. 

“He was trying to pick a fight,” Natasha said sourly. 

“He wants to get beat up?” Bucky asked, gripping his cup tighter.

“In a way,” Natasha rolled her eyes “He’s doing the cops a favor. If they show up when he’d getting pummeled, they can arrest the guys and start cataloging known HYDRA members.”

"That’s bullshit,” Bucky said, slopping coffee on the dark wood of the table. Irritated, he grabbed a napkin from Natasha’s side of the table to mop it up. “He could get killed doing something like that,” Bucky mumbled. 

“He very nearly has been,” Natasha said, eyes cold. “He mentioned the station bombing, right?” her voice was clipped, on point. 

“Yeah, he called in the threat” Bucky said, meeting her gaze. 

Natasha growled her discontent. “He did,” she said “And nobody gave a shit. Then he went over there, got kicked out for causing a fuss, and snuck back in to find the bomb himself. Spent time he should have been using to get out after the first bomb went off unlocking the cells the guards abandoned. Didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Bucky was almost sure he could hear her grinding her teeth. “Then the building went up and nobody could find him. Took half an hour of digging to get him out. Spent a week breathing out of a tube. He’s damn lucky.

“You’re not the only one with problems, James. In the 6 years I’ve known Steve, he’s been in intensive care at least 10 times. He can be incredibly stupid,” she sighed lightly through her nose “But he’s pretty tough. Don’t discount him.” 

Bucky wasn’t attending well. 10 times in intensive care. Shit, he’d ended up there once and that was enough. He couldn’t imagine repeat visits.

“…wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him, if you care”

“What?” Bucky pulled his mind from burning rubble and trapped Steve, back to the crowded, dimly lit coffee shop.

“You care,” Natasha repeated. “So watch out for him. Easy enough, he lives right above the shop. Just don’t be obvious about it. He will freak.”

“I don’t care.” Bucky bristled, response immediate, ingrained. 

“Fine,” she said, hands up in casual surrender. “But you do realize that if he gets himself killed, you’re out of a job.” 

“I guess,” Bucky grumbled and downed the rest of his coffee. It burned his throat, but he needed to leave. “See you round, Tasha” 

“James.” He paused, reluctantly turning to face her. 

“Don’t buy from Rumlow anymore. Banner’s pricy, but his stuff is clean.”

Bucky mused, then nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.” 

“Told you” Natasha said, looking up from her phone “You’re my favorite addict.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…there you have it. Next chapter is decidedly darker, I'm cranking up the violence one would associated with criminal activity. Update next Monday, promise. 
> 
> Oh! and bonus points to anybody who knows the full quote I'm using for my story title. If anybody can name it correctly I'll post the next chapter early (I realize you can just google it, but have a little integrity people) 
> 
> And I'm approximating 15 chapters (the question mark was bothering me) but there could be more. So stay tuned! If you like. No pressure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Chapter 3. The hurt element of said hurt and comfort you've all been waiting for. Plus another character. So theres that.

The first time Steve well and truly scared the hell out of Bucky was two weeks later – November marking a month since Bucky started working. They had a rhythm to their work by then. Bucky tolerated mornings so Steve could bike around to god-knew-where, and Bucky didn’t have to work late, gave him time to get a fix in the early evening and pull himself together in time for work. 

Steve had Bucky’s number, called in the afternoons to see how fucked up Bucky was sometimes or if Bucky wanted to work some extra hours. Steve’s calls where hit or miss, but today, Bucky wasn’t uncovering the secrets of the universe, just tucked into his ratty couch next to his new space heater (expertly wired to a car battery by Natasha) reading a beat up copy of Lord of the Rings for the thousandths time. 

Bucky headed over, helped Steve and his friend unload a pickup truck full of – surprisingly enough – more records. The back lot wasn’t frozen over yet, but the patches of ice didn’t make things easy. 

“Because we obviously don’t have enough” Bucky grouched, hauling three at a time. His breath huffed out in a crystalized cloud. The sky was a blank vapid blue, cloud free, but the sun was cold. “And we have so much extra space” Bucky continued. 

Steve smacked him on his way out to get another armload. “Less talk, more doing.” 

“Yessir, captain sir” Bucky prattled off, stomping his feet to warm his numbing toes. He could practically hear Steve rolling his eyes. Bucky shivered and continued his exaggerated steps as he made his way inside. His boots were a few years old; the heels held in place with superglue; three pairs of socks barely discouraged the cold. He’d have to put boots on his list of things to consider when he got his next paycheck. 

Once all the crates and containers and taped together cardboard was moved in, Sam (the friend) – a tall black man who made Bucky feel inexplicably calm – pulled Steve aside to trade information. Bucky busied himself with unpacking and changing labels to reflect the actual contents of the boxes. 

Steve came in, looking tense. 

“Something up?” Bucky asked. Every so often people – decidedly not customers – stopped by, needed to talk with Steve. These conversations sometimes ended with Steve seeming…pained. Usually followed by Steve’s sudden departure on his rickety bicycle, bat-out-of-hell style. Bucky correctly assumed it had to do with all the crazy Steve had explained the day he hired Bucky, so he didn’t ask specifics. Wasn’t his fight. 

“I need to run,” Steve said “Here” he passed Bucky a ring of keys. “Sam works around the corner, he’s got a ride home. We’re picking up the rest tomorrow. Hold onto the keys, would you? I always lose them.” Steve grabbed his jacket, adding a 4th layer to his clothing ensemble. “I’ll be back to close up, kay?” 

“Fine by me” Bucky replied as Steve swung a leg over his bike. Bucky felt the weight of the keys in his hand, tucked them securely in his pocket. He hadn’t held car keys in ages. Where he grew up, people didn’t need keys to start cars. 

“Thanks” Steve said, kicking off. 

“Why not drive?” Bucky shouted after him, feeling foolish holding the truck keys. 

“Too conspicuous!” Steve yelled back, rounding the corner and vanishing from sight. 

What did that mean? Bucky gave up trying to understand after a few minutes. He didn’t mind working late. Bucky didn’t have any place to be, besides, work paid better and the store was warmer than lounging around his apartment. 

6 o’clock came and went, sun dropping out of the sky like it had someplace to be. Dark rose, the temperature fell. Bucky wasn’t keeping an eye on the time as he fussed with the influx of records, shoving and pushing things into what he approximated was the right spot. He was so close to understanding the maze of musical archives. 

His phone rang around 7, which was odd, because they closed at 6 and he wasn’t paying attention. Steve should have returned. 

“Yes?” he answered, propping a box between his hip and the wall. 

“James.” Natasha’s voice was hard to make out. Bucky frowned. Natasha loved to text, hated it when he called her. “You have eyes on Steve?” She sounded impatient. 

“No.” Bucky replied, felling oddly hollow. “What’s–” 

“I’ll call you if we find him.” She said quickly “If he makes it back, get him away, then call me.” 

“What are you–?”

“Later” she stressed, and hung up on him. Bucky stood stock still, phone pressed against his face as if he could will the line to reconnect. Something was seriously wrong, happening now if she didn’t have time to talk. If they found him? What had Steve gotten tangled up in? Bucky ran a hand over his face. He didn’t have to stretch his imagination. At all. Steve had information, a valuable commodity by any standard. 

The next hour passed by at a distressing crawl. Bucky couldn’t stand to be in one spot, rearranging the upper shelves at random and closing up, trying to remember what Steve showed him the last time he stayed late. He left a few lights on though, unsure. For the first time since he started work, Bucky didn’t have a purpose, didn’t feel comfortable in the store. There was always something to do, or at least a conversation to be had when Steve was around. The shop waited patiently. Bucky waited impatiently; trying not to think about worst-case-scenarios. 

The crash came at 8:03, just as Bucky was seriously considering leaving the store to search for Steve on his own, because otherwise he would never get any sleep. Natasha’s words were running around in his head – ‘get him away’ – away from what? When there was a clattering thump out back. 

Bucky snapped up from where he was hunched behind the counter. Someone was clanging around in the back lot. Bucky scared off some smoking teenagers on Tuesday, ridiculously protective of their stretch of blank asphalt. He sighed and grabbed his heavy coat on the way out. 

Kicking the door open, Bucky came to an abrupt halt. The cramped lot was lit up in the harsh glare of headlights. Bright white light reflected off Sam’s blue truck and the surrounding brick walls. Everything was covered in a thin layer of ice crystals, glimmering away in the night. A pair of shadowy figures moved across the lot from him, by the dumpsters, trying unsuccessfully to wedge a bicycle past the lid.

“Hey!” Bucky shouted. His voice split the glistening dark, carried over the purring engine of the red sports car illuminating the back lot. A horribly familiar red sports car with a taped together windshield. Recognition rolled over Bucky in a wave, flipping from confusion to shock to fear. He stepped back without thinking. This was wrong, they needed to leave. Another shout was sticking in his throat, but the men were running back to their car, tires squealing as they slammed into reverse, peeling out. 

Bucky hesitated, eyes adjusting to the dim of flickering street lamps, the sharp cold biting at his exposed skin. Cautiously, he approached the dumpster, not wanting to consider what he was going to find. Steve’s bike was wedged, twisted and broken, propping the lid open high. Yesterday had been trash day, the grimy metal container was mostly empty. 

Bucky froze a foot away. He didn’t – he didn’t want to look. He’d seen bodies before, more than his share and if…if…

His breath coming in shorter gasps, freezing air lancing through his chest, eyes stinging. Clenching his fists, Bucky stepped up, looked down. 

There was Steve. 

He was curled in on himself, hardly taking up any space, clothes stark and muted and no, Bucky didn’t want to see this, because that was blood and Steve was tiny and Steve was – Steve was – 

Steve coughed horribly, body convulsing. Bucky scrambled around to the side of the dumpster. Yanking aside the metal covering – a small door that slid open that Bucky didn’t know about until he saw Steve using it – Bucky jammed himself in. 

“Steve? Oh – shit. Oh my god.” Bucky rambled, grabbing ahold of the smaller man, tugging him close and trying to support his head. Steve’s coughing doubled, the air in the dumpster was rank. Crouching, Bucky dragged Steve to the hole in the wall, wrapping his arms around him and holding Steve close to his chest. 

They tumbled out of the dumpster, landing in a heap. Steve yelped when they hit the ground, breath hitching as he drew his legs in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky repeated, loosening his death grip slightly. Bucky didn’t know what to do. Steve was slumped against him, gasping in air; Bucky could make out dark stains on Steve’s clothes. He wanted to call Natasha, call an ambulance but neither of those options sounded right. He had to get away, Natasha said – the point seemed moot, but it was the last thing anybody told him to do. The keys Steve handed him earlier were digging into his leg – maybe if he could just get them away, he could call Natasha. She would know what to do. 

“Let’s, uh let’s get in the truck,” Bucky mumbled to himself “That’s, yes, we can do that and…yeah.” Bucky nodded, gathered his legs under him. Steve was panting in his arms, Bucky hadn’t gotten a good look at his face yet, but he could smell the blood. Working the keys free, the headlights blinked as Bucky unlocked the truck from his spot on the ground. He maintained a stream of steady apologies as he hauled Steve over to the truck. 

Looping a hand under Steve’s knees, Bucky lifted him up to the trucks passenger seat, tucking him in securely so he could slam the door shut. Bucky ran around to the other side, sliding on frozen asphalt, pausing only to scrape a small hole in the thick frosting of ice on the windshield. Climbing in, he pulled out of the back lot without bothering to scan for traffic. 

The vehicle was dinging at him to put on a seatbelt. Bucky ignored it, attention split between squinting out the fogged up windshield and stealing glances at Steve. Steve, who was folded up on his side, eyes pinched shut. Beneath the glare of a red light, Bucky could see marks on Steve’s face, tracks where blood spilled out of cuts and scrapes. 

Bucky didn’t know where to go, hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car in years. The muscle memory was there, coordination clumsy as they rolled down sparsely populated streets. He kept his turns glacial, agonizingly slow to keep from knocking Steve around. 

Five minutes later, Bucky pulled into a gas station, dialing Natasha as he cranked the heater up to its max, trying to get the windows to defrost. 

“Romanov” she answered on the third ring. 

“I need help, I don’t know what to do,” the words poured out, approaching hysterical. 

“Is he alive?”

Bucky nodded fervently before remembering she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, but they hurt him and I don’t – I don’t –”

“Okay” Natasha said, cutting him off. “Hey. This can be okay.” Bucky swallowed, looking down at Steve. Bucky could see Steve’s chest rising and falling unsteadily, but at least the coughing had stopped. 

“Okay” Bucky whispered. 

“Where are you?” Natasha asked. 

“I, um, we had a truck so I drove away. I don’t know the street.” 

“Sam’s truck?” 

“Uh huh” 

“Alright. Are you driving now?” 

“No. I pulled over.” Bucky said, looking around the empty parking lot. 

“Good,” Natasha said. “Now you’re going to stay on the phone and I’ll give you directions, got it?” 

“Got it.” Bucky breathed, hand tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles bone white. On Natasha’s end, somebody else was talking, muffled. Natasha agreed, then returned. 

“James, you have to do one thing first.” She said, annunciating clearly. “You know how to check for bullet holes.” 

“Oh.” Bucky said, vision flickering. “Uh, yes. Just a sec.” He got out of the truck on autopilot, kicking himself for not checking earlier. When he opened the passenger door, Steve shrank away from the cold. 

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Under his touch, Bucky could feel Steve shaking. “Stevie?” Bucky ducked his head in, trying to be gentle as he rolled Steve over, running his eyes over the white t-shirt and jeans. The material was torn and dirty, but every round droplet of blood Bucky’s eyes darted to were small enough to have dripped from Steve’s face, weren’t blossoming on their own. 

Propped back against the seat, Steve blinked slowly at Bucky, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead, chest heaving in deeper breaths. Bucky took him all in, scuffed knees leaking blood down his pant legs, skin scraped off in long road burn gashes from his forearms – but thankfully no dark, oozing buttons marred his skin. 

Steve sat quiet, tilting steadily forward to the point Bucky had to move and catch Steve’s shoulders to keep him from hitting the dashboard. This time, when Bucky touched Steve, he protested, starting to struggle weakly. 

“Don’t – gid off–” Steve said and broke off, shoving a hand ineffectually against Bucky, uncoordinated.

Bucky didn’t want to upset Steve, but he was afraid if he let go, Steve would end up hurting himself more. Moving his hands to the edges of Steve’s shoulders, Bucky kept his touch light, nonthreatening. Steve continued to squirm, pressing back into the seat and wincing. 

“Steve. It’s just me,” Bucky said, searching Steve’s battered face for any sign of recognition. Steve was wavering on the edge of consciousness, but wasn’t to be dissuaded, shoving and leaning away from Bucky’s grip.

When Steve coughed, another seam of red trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Bucky tried not to look horrified. “Hey, you’re okay” Bucky said, aiming for reassuring and failing miserably. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. I wouldn’t” 

“Bhucky?” Steve slurred, eyebrows pinched together.

“Yeah. Bucky.” The relief at Steve’s recognition was sudden and intense. Bucky caught Steve’s gaze, holding eye contact; his wide, concerned grey eyes meeting Steve’s bleary blues. “We’re – we’re gonna go now.” Bucky said, supporting Steve gently now that Steve was leaning into his touch. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Steve seemed content with that, allowing Bucky to arrange him in the seat.

Returning to the driver’s side, Bucky picked up his phone, informed Natasha Steve was not in danger of bleeding out, and gunned the engine. 

Natasha’s directions were perfectly precise. Bucky arrived in 20 minutes. From there, events happened in an accelerated blur. Bucky helped Natasha and Sam get Steve in the house, onto a guest bed where Sam had a first aid kit spread out, was tugging Steve’s shirt over his head– 

Then Bucky was bundled out of the room. Natasha herded him onto a couch, shoved a water bottle at him. Finally, she planted herself in front of him and demanded the full story in her scary quiet voice. He complied. Bucky fell asleep on the couch half an hour later, drained and worried and faintly aware he might not be as uninvolved as he intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well…you may have noticed I posted early. I couldn't help it. I am a little ahead of the game, so there you have it. Thanks for all the supportive comments, you guys are the best :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, to contrast the hurt, here is some comfort. And Sam. Because Sam is awesome.

Waking up, Bucky’s first coherent thought was that he’d broken into someone’s house and crashed on their couch. Again. Most people – well, some people – took pity and didn’t call the cops. They’d push him out and frown their middle class disappointment at his poor life choices, remind him that breaking into people’s homes was a crime. Like he forgot or something. 

He peered around. The lamp on the table was reflected in the window, outside was a pitchy darkness. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, though the material smelled of thrift store salvage. With a great deal of effort, Bucky hauled himself up to seated, pressed his fingers into his eyes. He didn’t feel wasted. Just tired. 

Bucky tipped his head to the side. In another room, someone was coughing. That was his cue to leave. Standing up, he caught sight of a notepad on the coffee table. The paper had his name scrawled across the top in Natasha’s spikey caps lock. 

Bending slowly, Bucky rubbed the sleep from his eyes and read the note. 

James. Sam and I are out. Will be back by morning. Take care of Steve, his inhaler is on the nightstand. – Nat

The previous evening trickled back as Bucky read and re-read Natasha’s message. Dumpster. Steve. Driving here – not a stranger’s house, Sam’s house. Falling asleep.

The coughing started up again. Shit. Steve. Bucky stumbled a little, got his bearings and headed in the general direction of Steve; down the hallway, towards the open door he’d helped carry Steve through earlier. 

If Steve looked small abandoned in the dumpster, he took up even less space coughing and bent over himself on the edge of a queen sized bed. The light from the hallway did little, Bucky hastily crossed the room and turned on the lamp next to the bed, then faced to Steve. 

Steve was stripped to his boxers, blankets pooled around his feet, force of his coughing racking his entire body. Bucky’s hands fluttered over Steve for one unsure second. Growing up, Bucky’s little sister had asthma, would wheeze and wheeze without the inhalers they could barely afford. Inhaler or no, Bucky had to get her untwisted, seated up halfway before anything else. 

Pulling himself together, Bucky grabbed the inhaler, clambered up on the bed and wrapped his arms around Steve. Bucky hoisted him up, practically pulling Steve into his lap. Steve was hacking and coughing up a storm, fighting Bucky’s help as his body folded. 

“Hey” Bucky said, leaning back and pulling Steve with him. “You gotta help me out here pal” With fumbling fingers, Bucky pressed the inhaler into Steve’s hand, guiding his arm up. Steve was aware enough to finish the motion, taking two sweeping drags of albuterol and holding the last breath. The next exhale was reassuring, his coughs didn’t have as much force behind them. 

Bucky kept Steve upright as the drugs kicked in, listening to Steve’s breathing as his throat opened up. Steve gave a final, weak cough before the tension drained out of his body, leaving him boneless in Bucky’s arms. 

“Thanks” Steve said in a hoarse whisper. 

“Of course” Bucky replied. It was strange how normal this felt, because he’d done this over and over before, at home. Steve’s head had dropped back against Bucky’s chest, Bucky could just make out Steve’s eyelashes fluttering. For a little while, they sat like that; Steve resting with his back to Bucky’s chest, Bucky watching him intently for any sign of trouble. 

Eventually, Steve stirred, shifting but not making any attempt to break Bucky’s grip. Taking a rattling breath, Steve tiled his head back so he could see Bucky. Bucky took care to control his expression, he hadn't really gotten a good look at Steve since he found him. Steve’s face was a gory mess, making something in his gut clench reflexively. 

“Sorry” Steve mumbled around a split lip. 

“What? No.” Bucky said, bewilderment shifting abruptly to something else. “There’s nothing to be sorry for” Bucky said, softer, forcing a calm he did not feel. “Just…try to get some sleep” Bucky finished lamely. Steve sighed and did not contradict him, head dropping back. 

Bucky held Steve until he was well and truly asleep before disentangling with the practiced ease of various one-night stands. Except instead of leaving, Bucky gently propped Steve up on a couple of pillows, running a hand over the gauze wrapped around Steve’s forearms and glaring at incriminating bruises, then tucked the blankets securely around him. 

Sam’s house was warm, nothing like the icy chill that settled over Bucky’s derelict apartment building. Slipping to the floor, Bucky idly flicked off the lamp on his way down. Pushing his back to the wall, Bucky considered and dismissed retuning to the couch. If anything happened, he wanted to be right here. Because damn it all if Natasha wasn’t right. He did care – in the worst kind of way. 

Pressing a hand over his mouth, Bucky desperately swallow a scream. He hated this – feeling trapped, incompetent, broken. He left home for a reason, made enough unforgivable mistakes so that no one would miss him. Caring was for people who could afford to, who weren’t fucked up and inconsistent and unreliable, who could be counted on, who wouldn’t always, always, always forget the important things– 

Bucky slammed his head back against the wall and froze, mortified. Steve shifted on the bed, but didn’t wake up. Wrapping his arms around his legs, Bucky tucked his forehead to his knees and pushed everything out of his mind. He wanted a fix, a quick escape, but he couldn’t until Sam or Natasha returned and all his stuff was back at his apartment anyways. 

Bucky fell asleep much later, exhausted. Sam found him there as 6am rolled around, woke him with a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, shushing him lightly and pointing at Steve, who was snoring. 

Sam led him to the kitchen, gestured towards the chairs at the table. Bucky pulled one out and slumped over, watching Sam pour coffee into two mugs. 

“I’m guessing Steve was up last night,” Sam said, sliding a cup across to Bucky. Bucky nodded, giving Sam the once over. Sam was wearing the same cargo pants and ARMY shirt Bucky saw him in yesterday, dark circles under Sam’s eyes contrasting his easy going conversational tone. 

Bucky wasn’t sure about Sam, the ARMY shirt was throwing him off. Sam got along well enough with Steve, and Natasha had been here last night, but Bucky hadn’t made up his mind. 

“Steve cough up any blood?” 

Bucky flinched, thought about it, and shook his head. He would have noticed. 

“Good,” Sam said. “Looked like he just bit his tongue, but you can’t be too careful”

Bucky didn’t bother responding, sipping at his coffee. He didn’t particularly like coffee, but couldn’t dispute the effects of caffeine. 

“Not big on talking?” Sam said. Bucky glanced at Sam’s unchallenging expression. Sam didn’t sound like he was mocking him, but it didn’t dampen Bucky’s suspicion. 

“Hey, man, that’s fair enough,” Sam said, “You don’t know me, it’s cool. But I figure we owe you an explanation” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away. The more he knew, the harder it would be to back out – but he was aching to know how this happened, what was going to happen next. Sam interpreted his silence as permission to continue. 

“Best we can tell, there was a meeting going down last night between HYDRA and Fury. I had a name, Steve must have tracked him down and discovered the whole thing was an ambush.”

Bucky’s eyes widened imperceptibly, picturing frozen back alleyways and gang members armed to the teeth. Sam noticed, somehow, and sat down at the table so they were the same height. 

“Steve didn’t go to the meet” Sam assured him “Nat and I have mostly talked him out of doing stuff like that.” Sam smiled sympathetically as Bucky hunched a little lower, trying to conceal his relief. “But to get the word out, Steve biked into the latest DMZ – which is where that red car you saw ploughed into him.” 

Bucky felt his face twitch, his jaw clench. 

“Far as we’ve heard – and we hear a lot,” Sam continued, “HYDRA didn’t make the connection between their failed double cross and Steve’s venture into no man’s land.” 

“They would have killed him” Bucky said quietly, voice rough from lack of use. 

If Sam was surprised by Bucky speaking up, he hid it well. “Presumably,” Sam agreed, “This is a warning. Retaliation for the car.” 

“Means they won’t back off” Bucky said, dropping his gaze to the tabletop. The surface was worn, scratches marking the wood, candle burns intermittent. Another Goodwill treasure. 

“It’s unlikely” Sam concurred, “Gonna be one hell of a winter” 

Bucky nodded, picked up his coffee cup. There was one more thing gnawing at his mind. “Why’d you leave?” Bucky asked after a beat of silence. 

“Last night?” Sam clarified. Bucky nodded. “You helped Steve,” Sam said with a shrug “That’s good enough for me”

Ducking his head, Bucky took another long drag of coffee. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been good enough for anybody in a long time. 

“Besides,” Sam said, getting up “You didn’t have to help him”

Bucky wondered if Sam believed that. Bucky certainly didn’t. He hadn’t moved that quickly, acted without so little thought to help someone since before he left home. Bucky hadn’t wanted to get tied up in this, actively avoided conflict he wasn’t being paid for on principle. But here he was, acting impulsively. Not taking steps conducive to survival. He wanted to sink into the floor, give up and be done with his pathetic excuse for a life when Sam returned to the kitchen – Bucky didn’t recall him leaving – and informed him Steve wanted a word. 

Shuffling down the hall, Bucky was torn. Last night, he knew what to do. When Steve was coughing, he could fix that, had to. Without an objective, a painful shyness was crawling up his spine and making him jumpy. He just wanted to help. 

Passing the threshold, Bucky kept his eyes fixated on the stubby carpet. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. 

“Hey Buck” Steve’s voice was a little ragged, still friendly. 

“Hey” Bucky muttered back, glancing up. Steve was sitting up, mostly. Sam must have helped him into the oversized, grey ARMY shirt Steve was wearing. Bucky was starting to suspect Sam didn’t own much else by way of wardrobe. 

“You okay?” Steve asked. 

Bucky snorted, disbelieving. Steve had been hit by a car and beat to hell, and he was checking up on Bucky. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, exasperated. “Are you…?” And the question died on his lips, because it was stupid, really. “I mean–” Bucky was flustered, could feel his face heating up. 

“I’ll be okay,” Steve said, talking over Bucky’s rambling. “And thanks for…last night” Steve said. Bucky’s embarrassment was falling away, Steve actually looked uncomfortable. Bucky couldn’t have that. 

“No biggie,” Bucky said with an awkward wave “You die, I’m out of job” 

Steve laughed, then winced. “Aurg. Don’t try to be funny.” Steve said. Steve’s face was so battered it took Bucky a moment to realize he was teasing. 

“That’s rich, coming from you” Bucky threw at him, falling back on their usual banter. They traded insults till Steve sobered up and asked Bucky if he could watch the shop for a few days. Bucky agreed so fast his words tripped over each other on the way out. Later, when he was unlocking the back door of Vintage Records, Bucky paused to consider how opening the store after HYDRA’s retaliation was a bit blatant. No ramification came raining down though, and a few days later Steve returned, grouchy and wincing but insisting he was perfectly fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is liking the agonizingly slow character development. Next chapter will introduce the rest of the 'vengers, lots of fun. 
> 
> Again, thanks a million for the comments! 
> 
> (and seriously, thank you to the 3 people who are really actually reading this you guys are wonderful and I am shy about responding to comments directly sorry this is kind of a cop out but I'm really really glad you like it and I'll try to post fast. Thanks)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody ready for more characters? Good. Avengers everywhere.

Following the dumpster incident Bucky had a hard time coming down from high alert. He was watching the streets a little too intently, tamping down his mounting concern whenever Steve was gone for more than half an hour. 

He’d assisted Steve in tugging his ancient bicycle out of the trash the day Steve got back. Ended up with grease patches staining his last pair of moderately clean jeans while helping Steve fix the chain and reattach a pedal. Natasha took this as a sign to take Bucky shopping, dragging him out by promising to pay for half. Bucky knew her generosity would come with a price – as soon as they met up at the thrift store, it turned into an interrogation session. 

“Steve said you’re acting weird” Natasha said, directing a pointed look at him over the top of a rack of shirts. Bucky shrugged, pawing through the merchandise. Flannel wasn’t really his thing, but it was disgustingly cold; according to the radio the temperature hit the teens last night. 

“My boys haven’t seen you in days” Natasha said. Bucky paused, swallowing and running his hand down the sleeve of some grey and red plaid. He decided against it after noticing a weird stain. He didn’t want to talk about it – but there would be no deterring Natasha. Bucky chewed on his lip; his head was pounding, everything was just a little bit hazy. It had been a week since he found Steve in the dumpster; a week and 2 days since his last hit. 

Bucky wasn’t stupid – he knew he was an addict. He knew this was a bad idea, and that his resolve wouldn’t last, but every time he tried to dial up a dealer his mind shot straight back to that night. What could have happened if he hadn’t been there. 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was trying to quit or not; the only sensible conclusion he could reach was that drugs equaled dead Steve. Steve had never said anything disparaging about Bucky’s habits. The afternoon phone calls they traded from time to time seemed to be a source of amusement for the shopkeeper; Steve’s indifference towards Bucky’s life choices was refreshing. 

But Bucky couldn’t shake the sense of dread tied to drugs since that night. His body had been protesting his choice for the past week. He had the jitters; his skin was a hot, eyes red. Kept dropping things in the shop. Small wonder Steve noticed. 

Bucky had tried before, more than once, always falling short. He knew this was all for nothing. Didn’t matter. 

“James” Natasha was at his side, had moved without his permission. She placed a hand on his arm, steadying him. 

“M’fine” He pushed her off and promptly stumbled into the rack. She moved around him with her lithe efficiency, latching onto his arm before he could get any further. 

“Don’t lie to me,” she hissed, tightening her grip until it hurt. Moving close she could see Bucky’s feverish eyes, feel him radiating heat. “This isn’t you James” Natasha said, voice low. 

“I know” Bucky said miserably, twisting halfheartedly as she crushed his arm. God, he was going to have so many bruises. She continued to stare, eyes boring into his. “I don’t know what you want me to say” Bucky was practically pleading. Everything was hurting. 

“You can’t help him like this” she said, “You want to get clean, fine. But not now. Not with this shit storm about to go down.” 

Bucky closed his eyes, relieved and disgusted all at once. She thought he could help. She also thought he was useless. It didn’t make sense. 

“Alright” Bucky said, cracking an eye. Natasha’s vice like grip did not let up. 

“Alright what?” 

“I’ll take care of it, okay?” 

She gave his arm a final, painful squeeze. “See that you do”

They left half an hour later; Natasha dropped him off near his home with his bags of second hand sweaters and faded pants. Bucky threw his twenty-dollar investment of mismatched clothes on the couch and dialed up one of Banner’s middlemen. 

An hour later Bucky was feeling human again. Functioning addict, he told himself as he wolfed down McDonald’s dollar menu delicacies, he was useful as long as he was functioning. 

-

 

Bucky arrived to work early the next day, in time to see Steve roll up on his bicycle. Steve looked awful, not unlike Bucky the day before last. His eyes were watering, cheeks bright with fever spots behind the smear of still-healing bruises. Despite the cold, Steve’s sweaty hair was plastered to his head. He practically fell off his bike once he made it to the parking lot. 

“Where have you been?” Bucky asked. It was barely 7am, had Steve actually been out all night? 

“What are you, my mother?” Steve retorted, pushing his bike to the door and fishing around for the key. He fumbled with the lock, stopping to cough horribly into his sleeve. 

“Seriously, Steve” Bucky said, watching Steve as he passed through the door and collided with a pile of boxes, sending them teetering. Trying to be discrete, Bucky followed Steve closer, ready to catch him if he tripped. Steve noticed and scowled. 

“Seriously yourself.” Steve grumbled. Reaching the spindly table, Steve flopped ungracefully on the only chair. “I need you in the shop all morning.” Steve said, “HYDRA is planning something new, gotta get the word out.” 

“Then call them” Bucky urged, zeroing in on the black circles under Steve’s eyes, the coughs Steve was suppressing “It’s like, 20 degrees outside. And you look kinda sick.” 

“Don’t fuss Bucky” Steve said, irate, between another bout of throat tearing coughs “I can take care of myself.”

Bucky was reaching the end of a very short fuse. “It’s not all about you,” Bucky said “You can’t just – do this to people. I can’t–” Bucky caught himself in the middle of his outburst, turned around and hurried to the front of the shop. He shouldn’t have said any of that. 

Busying himself with filling the register and plugging in the window lights, Bucky listened intently for the slam of the back door. He didn’t hear anything. Bucky stole a glance out front for the sight of Steve pedaling away. He didn’t see anything. 

A few minutes passed, and Steve came out of the back, movements stiff. Steve regarded Bucky for a few seconds, expression mixed. 

“What?” Bucky said, more hostile than he intended. Steve didn’t so much as twitch. 

“I can’t call because everybody has bugged lines,” Steve said flatly “I bike because I have a cover as a courier, so I can get in contact with certain people. Mostly distributors.” 

Bucky’s stomach did something of a backflip. People with bugged lines were involved in serious shit – long-term prison sentence kind of serious. If Steve was involved with distributors, the kind of information he was carrying would be worth more than his life if HYDRA caught up with him. 

“As long as I don’t interfere with their business, I can trade information for updates. When groups are purchasing, whose competition. 

“I’m expected on Wednesdays,” Steve said “It’s nonnegotiable. Not like I can take a sick day.” Steve’s proclamation was made entirely unconvincing when he started hacking up a lung. 

“I could go” Bucky said. The words where out of his mouth before Bucky could censor them. Steve raised an eyebrow, tugging a tissue from his pocket. 

“You?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence” Bucky said, trying to brush off his rising panic. What was he doing? “You’re saying you never had Sam or Natasha cover for you? I’m assuming they’re busy.” 

Steve looked taken aback, eyes watering as he blew his nose. “Well…I guess”

“Fine,” Bucky said, “Then it’s settled. Where am I going?” 

-

 

Which was how, 20 minutes later, Bucky found himself pedaling up to a tattoo parlor – Stark Improvements – the first address on a stack of 4 envelopes folded and crammed in his pocket. Fortunately for Bucky, the bike was entirely too tall for Steve, all Bucky had to do was crank the seat up. Heading around back like Steve told him, Bucky propped the bike up on a wobbly kickstand and pulled the ball chain out from under his sweater, dog tags falling across his chest. Steve had handed them over, chewing on his lip and assuring Bucky that was all the cred he needed. 

Reaching a thick iron door, Bucky lifted his hand to knock. His knuckles barely made contact when a slot at eye level opened sideways, revealing a pair of brown eyes. 

“Don’t know you” a snarky male voice intoned. “Go away” 

“Uh,” Bucky said, “I’ve got–”

“Not interested.” The man said, and snapped the hatch shut. Bucky stood, nonplussed. Steve hadn’t said anything about Stark beyond muttering ‘insufferable bastard’.

“Hey!” Bucky said, hitting the icy door, “I’m not selling. Just a delivery” 

There was no response. Bucky pounded on the door for a long minute. From beyond the door, he could hear music blaring. He briefly considered stuffing the envelope under the door. This was ridiculous. “Great” he said, stamping his freezing feet. What now? 

Exasperated, Bucky rounded the building and walked in the front entrance. For a front, the place was nice. The walls were a muted red and gold; binders flipped open on low metallic tables advertised artist’s skills. Behind the counter, a skinny, poised red head was tapping on a laptop. Her makeup was conservative and the grey inked flowers that ran down her neck peeked out the sleeve of her shirt, winding around her wrist. 

“Be with you in a minute” she said, not looking up. Bucky walked closer anyways, anxiety building. Steve hadn’t said not to go in the business entrance, but he hadn’t said Bucky should either. Bucky fiddled with the dog tags, making them clank together. 

That got the receptionist’s attention. She perked her head up, drinking in his appearance. “Let me guess,” she said politely “You’re Steve’s new hire.”

Bucky jerked a nod. “Delivery?” he asked, feeling incompetent. 

She gave him a small smile. “I’m Pepper,” she said, standing and offering her hand. Bucky shook awkwardly, gloved fingers clumsy. “Why don’t we have this conversation in the back?”

Trailing after her, Bucky watched as she moved purposefully though a fully stocked tattoo parlor to a door painted the same color as the wall. 

“Sorry for any confusion,” Pepper said, unlocking the door. “Tony doesn’t take to new people without an introduction” 

Bucky gave an indifferent shrug. Paranoid seemed to be the order of the day. Walking into the next room, he pulled up short. 

There were guns everywhere. Lining the walls, stacked on tables, spilling out of crates. Bare bulbs hung from the industrial bones of the ceiling, lighting up weapons dismantled across metal surfaces, others housed behind chain link. A massive safe lurked in the corner, receding partially into the wall. Next to the keypad, a row of briefcases, duffle bags and a golf caddy waited. Bucky took a breath, pressed his lips together and followed Pepper as she weaved around the semiautomatics and scopes and holyshit was that a rocket launcher– 

“…who Steve hired.” Bucky tugged his attention back to Pepper. He hadn’t really noticed the man in the corner, especially hunched over the guts of a pulled apart generator, seated amid an excess of toolboxes with their contents scattered across his workbench and the floor. 

“This is Tony” Pepper said. Tony didn’t fit the traditional appearance of how Bucky imagined an arms dealer. The styled hair was on point, but the Black Sabbath t-shirt and dark jeans were overly casual for someone who made over six figures a year. And the tattoos running up and down his arms –stylized ripped muscles revealing gears and pistons shaded to look deep beneath his skin. 

Tony hardly spared Bucky a second glance. “Don’t care. Can you hand me that wrench?” Pepper delicately lifted the tool in question and smacked it with unnecessary force into Tony’s open palm. “Ow,” Tony said petulantly “What was that for?”

She ignored his disgruntlement. “Actually, you do care.” 

“Why?” The question was directed at Pepper, but Bucky was tired of being treated like he wasn’t in the room. The same indignation he’d fired off at Steve earlier was building – he didn’t have time for this. The three additional letters in this pocket were the most incriminating material he’d ever had the misfortunate luck to be carrying on his person. And he’d worked with Natasha. 

“Because if you don’t take this, right now, I’m tearing it up,” Bucky said, forcing the envelope at Tony. “I have other deliveries”

For a gut wrenching second, Bucky thought Tony wouldn’t take it. Then he leaned forward and yanked the creased letter out of Bucky’s hand. “Alright,” Tony said, tipping back and crossing his arms “What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t” Bucky shot back “I’ll see myself out” Bucky turned on his heel, willing his breathing to slow as he made his way out, not daring to look back. Behind him, he could just pick up on Tony’s comment to Pepper – “Who the hell–” when the door swung shut. 

Running around back, Bucky grabbed the bicycle and made a break for it, half convinced he was about to die in a hail of bullets. What was that? What was he thinking?

Skidding on a patch of ice, Bucky slowed down, gathered his thoughts. Tony was one of four letters he was delivering. He was going to be lucky to come out of today the other side of breathing. 

-

 

Oddly enough, Tony was the worst of Bucky’s encounters. The people he met seemed to genuinely like Steve; once they saw the dog tags they wanted to know if Steve was okay, what was going on. From the blond haired giant who lived in the oversized house up the hill (who introduced himself as Thor, what kind of an alias was that?) to the pale, balding man with a pristine office at the back of a well-known bar. At the very least, Bucky was relieved he didn’t have to deal with any more resentment.

If Bucky had to guess, and he couldn’t stop his mind from trying to put the pieces together, Thor was part of a family business dealing a variety of drugs. The smell of coffee beans in the opulent front hall was so strong it had to be masking something. The man at the bar, Coulson, came across as the number crunching type, probably the money launderer for a higher class of criminals. 

Bucky reached the last stop with relief. The Army recruitment station was sandwiched between a pawnshop and a liquor store, located only a few blocks from Vintage Records. The ride back from the bar had been stressful with the wind picking up; Bucky was looking forward to being done. 

Cruising up, Bucky had the envelope in hand when he bundled in, wind slamming the door open and letting in a burst of frigid air. 

“Delivery for Rhodey?” Bucky said. Since the disaster a Stark’s place, Bucky had improved his pitch. A cover was a cover, Bucky figured he could play courier convincingly enough. 

“That’s me” A black guy, average build, hair buzzed short, appeared from the back office. “Bucky, right?” he asked, “Sam told me” 

Bucky was getting better at hiding his startled expression. “Yes.” Bucky replied, handing over the final letter “See you later”

“Hold up,” Rhodey said. Bucky paused, hovering near the entrance. “Wanted to thank you,” Rhodey said, “For whatever it was you said to Tony.” Rhodey grinned, “I haven’t seen him that worked up in months” 

“What?” Bucky said, heart hammering. 

“Just got back from lunch with him,” Rhodey explained, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth “He’s my contact for selling surplus military grade weaponry.” Bucky forced his expression to remain neutral. “He’s a cocky son of a bitch. Does wonders for his ego to see him knocked down a few pegs”

Something like concern must have passed over Bucky’s face; Rhodey made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing to worry about. Tony’s a lot of talk, unless it comes to business. Keep up the good work.” 

Bucky took this as his cue to leave. “Yah, sure” he agreed on the way out. This was great, he thought, as he grabbed the freezing handles of the bike, just fantastic. What sort of shit was he getting dragged into?

Bucky made it back to Vintage Records around noon, greeted immediately by an expectant and peaky looking Steve. “Any problems?” Steve croaked.

“Nothing major,” Bucky said, parking the bike and offering Steve his dogs tags “You sound terrible. I’ve got the register, take a break.” 

Steve was posturing for an argument, grabbing the dog chains and tossing them around his neck. Bucky spoke up first. “Cut me some slack, will ya? I’ve been freezing my ass off and the shop is a hell’uva lot warmer than my apartment” 

Steve considered this, sniffing and swiping a hand wearily under his nose. “For a bit” Steve said slumping, giving in. “I’ll be upstairs if anything comes up.” Bucky watched him go, feeling a sense of accomplishment and a little worry. He wanted to go after Steve, force him to take care of himself. At the very least, Steve wasn’t far; hopefully he had Nyquil and soup and his inhaler and– 

Shit. Bucky was doing it again. Caring. Steve didn’t want Bucky’s help, but Bucky couldn’t shake the felling that Steve might need it. 

This was getting complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay next chapter is way more fun but I had to introduce people so yah. And ohmygoodness so many comments thankyou thankyou thankyou you're all wonderful. Not to tease, but I've written ahead a bit and this whole thing might end up being around 35k. So be prepared. Thanks again, I'll speed up my posting as soon as my beta reader gets home :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy :)
> 
> Now that we have 'Vengers it is definitely time to go out with said characters. Since neither Steve or Bucky have a social life.

The next time Bucky saw Natasha, she was in one of her rare good moods. Good in this case meant not intensely judgmental or prone to physically harming him. She wandered in to the shop midday, chatting up the two of them – Steve looked better now that he had recovered from his cold and his face was nearly healed up. Bucky could still see the shadows where bruises had been, but only because he knew where to look. 

Sweet talking Steve into closing early, Natasha insisted they join her at the coffee shop next door. Introducing Bucky to Clint for the first time ever, Natasha hopped up on the counter and remained perched there when Bucky walked away. The afternoon crowd was buzzing, filling up on caffeine and pastries. Bucky didn’t expect to recognize anyone, except…

There was Sam, lounging next to a guy with a military haircut, laughing uproariously. Behind them, Tony (who’s vaguely threatening sarcasm no long effected Bucky) was bent over a table conversing with Rhodey. Natasha slid off the counter in favor of joining Pepper, calling over to a tiny woman who was completely dwarfed standing next to Thor. There were others too, people Bucky half recognized from a few of the deliveries Steve had him run: Thor’s group of friends (body guards?), Maria Hill, who worked with Coulson and, amazingly, a table of off duty cops. 

It was weird and slightly unsettling; the notion that more than one or two people knew Bucky on sight. They were all sharing the same space, weaving around tables constructed from pallets and crowding around the stone fireplace. That some of them knew his name was another foreign concept. Bucky chose to hide between a fake plant and a wing backed chair, but Steve found him in no time at all. 

Steve nodded towards the coffee bar. “Want anything?” Bucky shook his head. The smattering of identifiable individuals, mostly dressed for a night out, was distracting. They kept moving so he couldn’t track the variations of who-knew-who. Overall, the mixing of previously well-defined boundaries was disconcerting; he didn’t want to leave, but was having a hard time convincing himself to stay. 

“I never understand how they can fill up on this much sugar, then turn around and drink all night” 

Bucky pulled his eyes from the babbling crowd, trading the confusing mess in favor of Steve. “You going with them?” Bucky asked, tapping his finger incessantly on his leg. 

Steve gave him a half-hearted smile. “Natasha will have my head if I don’t. She’s convinced I’m a recluse.”

Bucky bobbed his head. “She’s not wrong” Steve punched him in the shoulder, hard enough to sting. Bucky flinched back, smirking. Steve only hit hard if Bucky was close to the truth. 

“You should come” Steve said, eyes sweeping the crowd. 

“I’m poor, remember?” Bucky said, face heating up. Steve was just being polite. Didn’t mean anything by it. “You don’t pay me enough for a night out” Bucky said, finger tapping doubled. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Steve said dismissively. “Thor buys rounds every 15 minutes, and I know Tony is dying to get you drunk. He lives off of other people’s misfortune – he’s got quite the collection of videos – people in this room doing stupid things drunk. You should be more concerned about alcohol poisoning.” Steve glanced at Bucky, smile wry. 

Bucky fussed with the hem of his sweater, acutely aware of his less expensive clothing, searching for a better excuse. Steve gave him a friendly shove. “No pressure Buck. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

Bucky bit his lip, noticing how the light filtering past the blinds flickered, changing the shades of blue in Steve’s eyes. He was very aware of how dry his mouth was. 

“Sure.” Bucky said finally “Could be fun.”

-

Fun didn’t begin to cover it. Alcohol was an old friend, one Bucky indulged in less and less as the price of drugs inched higher. Five shots in, Bucky couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d given up liquor. He was properly warm for the first time in months. 

Despite the initial wave of enthusiasm, Bucky willingly let Steve guide him away from the table Thor’s party claimed. Three shot glasses had already been broken amid their ruckus. Bucky wasn’t drunk, not really, but he was on his way. He figured hanging out with Steve at the bar would be a smart move; what with Tony eyeing him like something predatory a few tables away. 

Steve got the bartender’s attention, even though they both had drinks. Odd. On this end of the flashing stretch of the club, the music was dialed down, lights steady. The counter was a slick streak of grey, glowing softy. Panels of mirrors staring at Bucky reflected the mash of shadowy people behind them; everything was framed by impressive shelves of different colored bottles. 

“Bucky” Steve said “Meet Nick” 

Bucky straightened automatically. Steve and Natasha talked about the gang Fury occasionally, and the head of the gang, Nick, usually in conjunction with brutal gang warfare. Not someone Bucky expected to meet tending bar. 

“Been hearing a lot about you” Nick said, flipping a glass expertly. 

Bucky swallowed. The leader of Fury wasn’t particularly huge or looming, but Bucky was already so far past intimidated he was bordering on fear. Bucky heard things about this gang, things he would never repeat. The bartender’s dark skin blended with the black suit he wore, Bucky couldn’t keep from flicking his eyes towards the ragged scar passing in and out behind his tinted glasses. 

“Steve here thinks highly of you” 

Bucky chanced a glance at Steve. Steve had his back to the counter, was drinking his beer and watching the crowd. Great. Bucky was on his own. 

“I’m not so sure” the man behind the bar continued. Bucky watched as he poured a glass without looking, sliding the drink expertly down the bar to a waiting patron. “Name one reason why I should trust you” Bucky couldn’t think of one.

“There isn’t” Bucky said finally, catching Steve’s attention. 

Nick paused, expression unreadable. “Alright then. Come back when you have one” With that, he moved off. Bucky turned to Steve, throat tight, overwhelmingly certain he’d majorly fucked up. 

“Sorry about that,” Steve said earnestly “He wanted to talk” Bucky gave a full body shrug, shaking off some of the tension. 

“S’okay” Bucky said, eyes wide. Holy shit. That had just happened. 

“No, it was rude,” Steve said, stressed “I should have warned you before we left. I didn’t think he’d want to meet you this early on.

“That went well though,” Steve continued, resting his back against the bar “He didn’t threaten you, or kick you out. I’ve seen both. And from now on,” Steve said, head-butting Bucky’s shoulder “Unless you kill somebody, you never have to talk to him again.” 

“Oh thank god,” Bucky mumbled, making Steve laugh. 

“Come on, Buck. I’m sure the ladies will buy you a drink”

-

 

They ended up in a cove on the other side of the dance floor, Bucky pressed in between Pepper and a hilarious girl with glasses who introduced herself as Darcy. Turned out she was friends with Jane, Thor’s adorably small girlfriend. Natasha was lounging, cat like, a few cushions down, gesturing lazily with her drink at Maria Hill – who was pulling off a shocking red dress nicely. Until today, Bucky had only ever seen her in pantsuits. 

Steve was a few seats over, talking with Sam and Sam’s friend Riley. When they arrived Bucky took Riley as Sam’s wingman. Now he wasn’t so sure. Ten minutes later, watching the two of them grinding on the dance floor, Bucky figured it was safe to assume otherwise. 

Not a fan of dancing, Bucky sat contently with the girls and learned more about select temperatures for altering chemical compounds, the cost of AK-47 knock offs and fashion than he really wanted to. 

Darcy and Jane were scientists of some sort, both had abandoned a master’s degree and PHD respectively in favor of Thor’s family business. They’d spent the last two weeks out of the country and had a lot of catching up to do with Pepper. Jane was gushing over the technology she got to examine over there – light years ahead of what we have access to here, she said excitedly. 

Bucky spent his time listening, gradually relaxing as the drinks continued to flow, occasionally scooting over as Darcy inched nearer. None of them, not Pepper or Jane and Darcy (who Bucky had known for a grand total of 30 minutes now) bothered to censor their conversation with Bucky in the middle. It was bizarre. And not entirely distressing. Bucky was counting exits, to be sure, but as time ticked on and drinks were topped off, the place seemed less threatening. Even with Darcy constantly bumping shoulders with him. 

When the conversation turned to frustrating habits of their useless boyfriends, and Darcy piping in more than once that she was single, Bucky began sending desperate glances at Steve. Steve caught on eventually, rescuing Bucky with a grin. The girls coursed their goodbyes and returned to their increasingly vocal complaints; how Tony refused to go to sleep at a normal hour, Thor’s incessant snoring; Natasha spun around and added Clint’s bad habit of drinking coffee out of the pot and leaving arrows lying around. Bucky practically fled. 

“Thanks” Bucky said fondly, following Steve to a relatively quiet corner. By now, Bucky was well and truly buzzed. The ladies, while deceptively skinny, were constantly waving down waiters. The worlds tilted precariously when Bucky stood up, but settled down the longer he stood next to Steve. 

“You having fun yet?” Steve asked, pushing a tall glass into his hand. 

“I think so,” Bucky said. He took a long look at the drink Steve had handed him, overly preoccupied with the sensation of Steve’s fingers running over his. “Vodka?” Steve, holding his beer, chuckled. 

“Water. You’re hardly going to make it out of bed tomorrow, much less to work at the rate you’re going.” 

Bucky swayed, trying to work things out. “You’re sweet” he settled on finally, tossing the water back. “Thanks Stevie” There was something Bucky was supposed to be doing, he was sure, but he couldn’t get this stupid smile off his face. Steve hadn’t stepped back since passing him the water. Their hips were lined up, practically touching.

“Something on your mind Buck?” Steve had dropped his voice, pressing in closer than was strictly necessary for Bucky to hear him. Bucky’s face flushed, and it had nothing to do with being drunk. Steve was impossibly close. Bucky could have counted eyelashes if he wasn’t busy staring at Steve’s lips. 

“Just thinking” Bucky breathed, heart hammering. Steve had a small smile playing on his lips, had a confidence Bucky was sure he’d never felt. 

“About?” Steve prompted, eyes more than a little hungry. 

But exactly what Bucky was or was not thinking about never passed his lips. From behind, there was a heavy crash. Turning, Bucky watched as a dark outline struggled up from the floor amid the flashing lights, crowd parting around him as he lunged forward. 

“Aw shit” Steve said, leaning around Bucky for a better view. Bucky smirked at Steve’s barely perceptible cussing. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t swear, Bucky was discovering, it was that Bucky was rarely close enough to hear him. 

“Leave what alone?” Bucky asked, puzzled. About a dozen feet away from their spot, somebody was throwing punches. They upset a table, resulting in another shattering cascade of glass. 

“I spotted the guys who hit me on my bike earlier. I shouldn’t have mentioned it” Steve said, frowning, as if the whereabouts of the two people Bucky hated more then he thought was possible wasn’t very important. As if hitting Steve with their car was the worst of it – not the way they pummeled his face or threw him in a dumpster at night. 

“Which guys?” Bucky said, surprised by how level his voice was. 

“The red button up and ugly moustache, and I think they have friends,” Steve said, inclining his head “this won’t last long. The bouncer here is–”

But Bucky wasn’t there anymore. Fueled in part by the alcohol, in part by the exact moment he had found Steve in the dumpster, Bucky marched right up behind ugly moustache guy where he was warding Sam off with a broken bottle. 

Grabbing the guy’s shoulders and spinning him around, Bucky planted his fist in the guy’s face, followed with a shot to the gut. Bucky hadn’t been in a fight since he took the job at Vintage Records, but Natasha didn't pay him for nothing on the nights she needed backup. 

Ducking a wild left swing, Bucky stumbled back and kicked the guy in the chest, sending him tripping over a chair. Furious with the man in front of him, Bucky didn’t notice the second guy rounding on him and got hit full on in the face. Bucky staggered sideways into somebody new, who retaliated by grabbing a fistful of Bucky’s hair. Shit. Bucky struggled, snorting in a nose full of blood and trying to regain his balance. 

The guy got a leg in front of his and tipped Bucky forward, using Bucky’s weight against him. Thrown off balance, Bucky’s stomach flipped as he his feet where kicked out from under him. The hand gripping the back of his neck drove him face first into an unforgiving table and Bucky crumpled to the ground.

“ENOUGH” 

From his spot on the ground, Bucky watched blearily as two fully grown men were dragged towards the exit by their collars. Must be the bouncer, Bucky thought sluggishly. The soft spoken guy at the door hadn’t looked terribly imposing on the way in, but he didn’t seem to be having any trouble hauling people out the door against their will. 

Then there were hands on him, yanking him off the ground. 

“Damnit Bucky, get up” Steve hissed in his ear. Bucky couldn’t quite get a hold of the whole ‘standing and walking’ thing, slumping over Steve and nearly sending them both to the ground. Steve paused, shifted so Bucky’s weight was distributed over his shoulders, and angled them in the direction of the bathroom. 

Bucky fell through the bathroom door and landed next to the sink with Steve controlling his decent. Disentangling from Bucky, Steve produced and handful of tissues from his pocket, leaned in to swipe at the blood leaking out of Bucky’s nose, over his lips. 

“What the hell was that?” Steve said quietly, movements short and practiced. Bucky refused to make eye contact. He didn't have a good answer. The pain from his face was dulled by the number of drinks he’d had, but he could tell it was going to be much, much worse in the morning. 

“Bucky,” Steve said, tilting Bucky’s head up with a few careful fingers “Hey, you with me?” Bucky nodded, sort of, head pounding. What was Steve so worried about anyways? Watching Steve talk, Bucky gave his best effort to follow along as his headache intensified. 

“…think you might have a concussion” Steve said, concern creasing his features. “Stay here. I’m going to get Natasha.”

Bucky nodded but had to stop. Moving his head was a bad idea, what with his skull splitting open. He watched Steve leave, watched as the smooth tiles of the bathroom floor began melting together. He’d fucked up again, he knew it. Couldn’t do one thing right. Shouldn’t be here. 

By the time Steve got back with Natasha, Bucky had tipped over, head resting on the cool floor. Then Natasha was snapping his name, flashing some keychain light in his eyes. He tried to duck away, but she grabbed his jaw with none of Steve’s gentleness and that was that. Then she had a conversation with Steve that lasted forever and ever and at some point Bucky must have blacked out, because he woke up in the back seat of a moving vehicle with his head resting in somebody’s lap. Then he was up again, feet lagging behind his brain as he sort of climbed up a set of stairs, supported by two people. 

Reaching a couch, Bucky was grateful to be dropped down on his side. He sank into the cushions, burying his throbbing face and falling back into the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey
> 
> Hope everybody liked protective!Bucky. And the wild inclusion of Marvel ladies, whom I love. The next chapter is total and complete fluff to offset Bucky's face getting smashed. I promise to post soon :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fluff. And some sorely needed bonding. Because these two idiots belong together.

Bucky woke up to the sound of a shower, a rushing hiss from a parallel room. Eye’s shut, he tried to catalogue the noise, make some sense of it; but as consciousness returned, all outside interference was violently replaced by the enormity of his headache. Something was up there, sawing away at his skull, drilling behind his eyes, hammering incessantly. 

With a low piteous moan, Bucky attempted to crawl further into the couch. A blanket had been draped over him; he pulled the patchwork material over his head. His head hurt worse the longer he was awake. As he lay there, more senses kicked in and brought a laundry list of complaints. 

He was made aware of the throbbing in his face, inspiring him to abandon his conquest to burrow further into the cushions. This was closely followed by the acute sting of his split lip and drool pooling in his cheek. His throat was raw; it felt like his mouth had been packed with dry leaves. Water. He needed water. 

Rolling off the couch with an anticlimactic thump, Bucky let out a few muffled curses. He then made a serious effort to get to his feet. Bucky got halfway, toppling back onto the couch when the searing pain behind his eyes became too much. 

Reseated, Bucky found himself staring at the arm of the couch. The pattern was wrong. Come to think of it, he wasn’t cold. Waking and cold went hand in hand, as did waking and the blinding 5am sunrise because he was too cheap to buy curtains. 

Not here. Past a coffee table, behind a TV, tan blinds were slatted shut, blocking out most light. The pair of windows were flanked by wooden bookshelves, each overflowing with what appeared to be a, though his blurry vision, a mix of paperbacks and VHS tapes. 

What the hell?

Quiet was pressing down on the dimly lit room; as a wave of dizziness passed he realized the shower noise was gone. Bucky let his eyes drift shut. His face hurt. He couldn’t remember why, or the last time he’d been this out of it. Felt sort of like he’d been hit in the face, which would explain the split lip, but–

And just like that, the events of last night came slamming home. The crowd at the bar, all those people and Steve– Steve–

God, he fucked up, he did it again and this wasn’t one of Natasha’s hideouts and unless he’d been badly kidnapped that left exactly one person who should have never, ever had to deal with this shit–

“Hey Bucky” Steve’s voice was soft as he crossed the room “Good to see you up” Steve sounded relieved. “Water?” Steve said, offering him a water bottle. Bucky took it without comment, wincing at another sharp jab behind his eyes. Steve perched on the table, within arm’s reach. Bucky could just make out the spikey angles of Steve’s damp hair, smell the shower and soap. 

“I’d ask how you feel,” Steve said politely, quiet “But you look terrible.” Steve leaned in, tilting Bucky’s face up with the same delicate touch he used last night. “Natasha is pretty sure you have a concussion, so we’re going to take it easy for a few days”

“What?” Bucky croaked, capped water bottle held uselessly in his hands. “No, that’s…that’s…” but he couldn’t figure out where he was going with that, he didn’t feel right, like he’d been pulled apart and stuffed back together. With an additional handful of nails thrown in his skull for good measure. 

“Hey, take it easy” Steve moved, dropping his hand to gently pry the water bottle from Bucky’s fingers and uncap it. “Here,” Steve handed it back “Drink” 

Bucky complied, sipping tentatively then draining the whole things in a series of long gulps. 

“Good” Steve said, satisfied as Bucky ran a shaky head over his mouth. Steve took the empty bottle; let his fingers run up Bucky’s arm as he walked around the couch. “Now go back to sleep”

Bucky didn’t have it in him to argue. 

-

 

The next time Bucky blearily returned to consciousness, the light leaking from behind the blinds was muted, fading. Succeeding in rising off the couch, Bucky dragged himself towards a slice of light spilling into his room. Off-balance he collided with the doorframe, squinted into the kitchen. Eyes assaulted by the bright, he retreated a few steps. 

“Oh – sorry” Steve said, flicking the overhead lights off and turning on the one under the microwave. Bucky yawned as his eyes refused to adapt. 

“Bathroom?” Bucky asked. 

“Behind you, first left down the hall” Steve said, pointing. 

“M’kay” Bucky turned, using the wall for support. Returning to the kitchen a few minutes later after relieving himself and inspecting the damage on his face (split lip, tender nose, but nothing busted) Bucky watched trepidatiously from the entryway.

At the stove, Steve was busy scrambling eggs. He was wearing sweatpants that sagged at his hips and a snug white tank top. It was distracting. The light from the microwave was over bright, but he could make out Steve perfectly. Steve picked up the saltshaker, dumped the contents liberally into the pan, oblivious to Bucky staring. 

Bucky was used to Steve in narrow pants and overlarge t-shirts; this was different. Hidden beneath all the baggy material Steve wore around the shop was a landscape of well-defined muscles. Bucky’s eyes roved over Steve’s shoulders, down the curve of his spine; lingering where Steve’s shirt rode up, revealing a strip of bare skin just above the waistline. 

A moment later and a string of implications and consequences crashed down on Bucky, bringing his headache back full force. No, he couldn’t think about that. Bucky winced; Steve was off limits, he knew that. His perception cut back, dizzy spots crawled across the back of Bucky’s eyelids. Bucky cared but Steve wouldn’t – Steve couldn’t – 

He must have made a noise because Steve was by his side in an instant, guiding Bucky over to a counter stool where he could sink down and bury his face in his arms. The countertop was cool against Bucky’s forehead. Steve gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. 

“Hungry?” Steve asked, moving back to the stove. Bucky dug deep and found enough willpower to unhunch. Food hadn’t crossed Bucky’s mind since waking, but the smell of eggs roused something in his stomach. He nodded uncertainly, figuring he should get up and help. Try to be useful. 

“You stay there,” Steve said, eyeing him when Bucky pressed his hands flat on the counter, intending to leverage himself up. “Better yet, park it back on the couch. I’ll come to you.” 

Bucky complied, guilt twisting a knot in his stomach. He shouldn’t be here. He was intruding, spreading his mistakes around, not taking responsibility. He crashed down on the couch, willing the room to level itself. The combination of headache and rapid fire spiking of anxiety was making his eyes water. Bucky swiped at his runny nose, harder then he meant causing pain to blossom across his face. Damnit. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the world.

“Bucky?” Steve was in the room, the plates of food and silverware tapped down on the coffee table with a dull clink. Bucky’s face was heating up, eyes prickling. Not now Steve. Not like this. 

“M’fine” Bucky said, talking around the lump in his throat. 

“Okay” Steve replied, not impatient or disappointed. Just Steve. They were quiet for a few moments, Bucky fighting with his demons, Steve sitting next to him. 

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Bucky sat up and found his steaming plate. 

“Hope you like it,” Steve said, rubbing his neck “Natasha and I were in trouble once, ended up at Sam’s place and he made breakfast food, it sorta helped…” Steve trailed off awkwardly. 

Bucky paused from shoveling the eggs in his mouth, swallowing “This is really good”

“Good” Steve said, relaxing. They finished eating and Bucky tried to help clean up; Steve pushed Bucky back with a hand on his chest. “I got the dishes Buck. Really” 

Bucky relented, waited for Steve. The sensation of Steve’s fingers pressing him into place was sticking to his skin, shirt creased from the touch. Steve returned promptly, turning on a few small lamps; the golden light pooled at the fringes of the room. It gave a hazy edge to everything: the frames on the wall, a stack of journals on the floor, Steve’s face. Though the blurriness could have something to do with the concussion. Bucky wasn’t sure. 

Steve ended up back on the couch, tucking his feet in. 

“Want me to talk?” Steve said unexpectedly. Bucky’s face must have conveyed his confusion. Steve shifted, cheeks a little pink. “I’ve just…I’ve had a few concussion. It sucks cause the TVs too bright, and music’s too loud, and there’s nothing but the headache”

As if to confirm Steve’s statement, Bucky grimaced as the pressure intensified. He clamped his jaw and waited for it to deflate to the dull ache. Steve made a sympathetic face. 

“Sometimes it helps to have somebody talk. About whatever, just a distraction. If you want.” Steve explained, trialing off. 

“You don’t have to” Bucky said, hugging himself tighter. It sounded nice. But he was already in Steve’s house, taking up Steve’s couch, eating his food. Bucky knew he was overstaying his welcome.

“I know,” Steve mumbled, “Maybe I want to” Bucky almost didn’t catch the last part. He tried to think of a reason why Steve shouldn’t. His head pounded harder. Maybe it didn’t matter. 

“Okay” Bucky said, voice tight. Maybe this was okay. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

“Just, tell me when to shut up” Steve said. Bucky seriously doubted that day would come. “What’dya want me to talk about?” 

“Umm” Bucky stalled. He knew what he wanted, but wasn’t sure if he had the wherewithal to say it. 

“I’m wildly intelligent” Steve said facetiously “What do you want to know about?” 

“You” Bucky snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. The filter between his brain and mouth had glitched. What had he done? He didn’t want Steve to go he just – but there was the strange thing. Steve hadn’t gotten up, wasn’t on his way out. He just sat there, regarding Bucky like he was teasing or kidding around instead of exhausted and embarrassed. 

“If you want” Steve said “Hmm,” Steve rested back, sinking into the couch “Where to start?” 

An hour and a half later Bucky knew more about Steve than he ever dared to hope. Steve grew up in the city, only a few blocks from where Bucky spent half of his life. If Steve hadn’t moved when he did, they would have ended up at the same high school. Steve’s family had relocated after his dad died in the service (hence the dog tags) and his mom couldn’t afford the downtown apartment. They moved in with his mom’s brother (former owner of Vintage Records). She’d found work at the clinic up the street and things settled down for a while. 

Then, seven years ago, right around Steve’s 19th birthday, mom and uncle got caught up in some cross fire. Gang warfare had gotten out of control, and now it was just Steve. 

Bucky drank it all in, afraid to interrupt and remind Steve he had no reason to share, didn’t owe Bucky anything. As the evening wound down, Bucky fought valiantly with his heavy eyelids, head dipping and catching, not wanting to miss anything. 

Then Steve was draping the blanket over him, tucking Bucky’s messy hair behind his ear. It was a sweet gesture; Bucky wasn’t awake enough to keep himself from making a small content sound. 

“Night Bucky” Steve said. Bucky mumbled something unintelligible and nodded off. 

-

 

The following days passed in a blur; Bucky spent most of the time passed out on Steve’s couch, snoring. In the hours between Bucky’s marathon naps and failed attempts to leave – Steve wouldn’t have it, severely unimpressed with Bucky’s bids for freedom and guilty excuses – they talked. 

Bucky was quiet, Steve didn’t seem to mind. It was easy, listening to Steve. They weren’t so different after all. Growing up in the city was rough; Steve had to laugh off Bucky’s distress as he listed off a barrage of backstreets and alleyways he’d been beaten up in. “I made it out alive” Steve joked, but Bucky couldn’t quite unwind until they changed topics.

Bucky commented quietly that Steve being an only child couldn’t be nearly as bad as having three sisters; one older and two younger. Steve countered with being sick all the time with no one but his mother around, constantly fussing. Bucky was silently appalled by Steve’s lack of friends – Why wouldn’t people like Steve? – but had no way refute. Bucky hadn’t been popular as much as feared. He knew the feeling, shared the sense of being on his own. 

And what Bucky couldn’t relate to, he tried to understand. Steve was just so confident he could make a difference, so bent on addressing all the injustices that Bucky had never bothered to question. To Bucky, that was just the way things were, couldn’t be helped. But listening to Steve, the state of their lives was just another problem to be fixed. 

Bucky spent three whole days in Steve’s apartment before Natasha showed up and deemed him fit to leave. After changing back into the clothes he arrived in (Steve’s t-shirts fit him fine, baggy sweatpants only a little stretched) Bucky hesitated. He wanted – he could hardly believe himself for thinking about it – he wanted to stay. Steve had been dropping not so subtle hints about plenty of space and more food than he could eat in the fridge. 

In the end, the itch building under his skin, crawling around in his brain won out. He needed the tiny plastic bags stuffed under the floorboards in his apartment. He couldn’t bring drugs here, put Steve in danger and make him a criminal accomplice or whatever. Steve’s apartment was a safe place, for someone who deserved to be safe. 

So Bucky left, parting with a surprise hug from Steve that he sort of, kind of returned, resolve wavering. He hated himself all the way home. Back in his freezing apartment, Bucky bundled up next to the space heater and inhaled deeply, intent on escaping the hollow feeling in his chest that yawned open the minute Steve was out of his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! It's sad, but in a nice way? Sort of? I hope?
> 
> You may have noticed there are now 17 chapters. The ending got more epic then I thought, so it split up into two chapters and then I figured I should add an epilogue. 
> 
> Okay and from now on thing are going to spiral out of control in kind of a crazy cliff-hanger-like tension-and-explosions way. Plus I'm almost done writing this...thing...so updates twice weekly at the minimum. 
> 
> Oh, and to my favorite 3 commenters, you guy are just really decent human beings I can't explain the kind of relief at getting any kind of feedback and I hope you're all having a good day. Thanks


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well if anybody was waiting for some daring heroic's, here it is. And I'm sorry in advance.
> 
> Oh and there are more chapters now I can't stop. The ending I had in mind was not as fulfilling as I anticipated, and I refuse to leave loose ends. By writing more. ffs.

When all hell broke loose during the first week of December, the culprit was – oddly enough – not HYDRA. Not directly. Over in Thor’s part of town, (which Bucky had taken to calling ‘Norseland’) a brewing conflict spilled over. 

From what Bucky could make out on the police scanners, the younger of the brothers had snapped. Steve had filled Bucky in on the last year’s drama in vague terms; Bucky learned more from Thor’s entourage on the occasional night out. Apparently, Bucky nearly getting his face caved in during the fight at the bar made him worthy of conversation. They invited him over and teased him relentlessly for being a lightweight when it came to shots; a fiction Bucky was happy to perpetuate. 

Where Steve was clever, Bucky could be loud – play up his drunkenness while attending to their conversations. One rarely visited and often dismissed topic was Thor’s brother, Loki. Recently, Thor’s sibling made a series of errors during an important business transaction in Europe, burning bridges and leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. He hadn’t been heard from until now. 

Steve was impressed with Bucky’s intel, but didn’t ask for any favors. With HYDRA growing more aggressive Bucky gradually worked up the courage to ask Steve if he could help more; showing up to work one day with a bike of his own and grumbling streams of disapproving protests if Steve was out more than two hours in the increasingly horrid weather.

Snow had fallen twice, and it was not the fluffy, marshmallow drifts gracing Christmas cards. Outside, cars sprayed dirty slush on unfortunate pedestrians. Tires skidded on an unbreakable inch and a half sheet of black ice. The city snow ploughs didn’t make it out this far, Bucky spread a bag of gravel on their back lot for all the good it would do. 

Armed with transportation of his own, (however unpleasant and freezing) Bucky won a few concessions from Steve. Bucky was officially the Wednesday courier, expanding his route to one additional spot: Banner’s lab. Bucky had been more than a little nervous, and was startled to find they’d already met. The biggest name in superior, prescription quality (and less scrupulous) drugs moonlighted as the bouncer for the bar Steve and the mismatch of criminals visited. Deliveries aside, Bucky was starting to get a feel for local happening, dragging details out of Steve after clocking out, lounging around the vacant store for hours. 

Following the concussion, Bucky was amazed to find himself relaxed around Steve, after anticipating the opposite. Bucky had done one of the most unforgivable things he could think of and came out relatively unscathed. He’d just wanted to help, protect Steve at the bar, and he knew he went about it all the wrong way. But Steve’s offhand comment in response to Bucky’s constant apologies for staying at Steve’s place– ‘You’d have done the same for me’ – stuck pleasantly in Bucky’s mind. He didn’t deserve it, but since Steve wouldn’t listen otherwise, Bucky dropped the argument. Maybe it was okay, them taking care of each other. But Steve came first. 

So when the cop cars came screaming by, radio cluttered with reports of gunfire and a possible explosion, Bucky worked up the nerve to tell Steve he was going with him to warn the neighborhoods surrounding Norseland. 

From their complied intelligence gathering, and a long, inexplicably detailed text from Natasha, Loki didn’t have any intention of keeping the fight an internal matter. The adopted son had foreign backing, was promised control by some mystery group with a name Bucky couldn’t pronounce. Ch-something. They’d provided him teams of mercenaries to accomplish their goals, toting an outrageous amount of weaponry. It was intentionally overkill; they meant to flatten any resistance that cropped up 

Steve reluctantly agreed to Bucky’s assistance, explaining in short sentences they would be out there explicitly to warn the surrounding neighborhoods. “They aren’t messing around, Bucky” Steve said, laying the red and blue baseball bat over his bike’s handle bars.

“Yeah, I know” Bucky said, burrowing into his layers of jackets. At least Steve couldn’t see him shaking. This was such a bad idea. Definitely in the top three. But he couldn’t let Steve go alone. He just – he couldn’t. It was like every decision when it came to Steve, he was acting without thinking. Even when in all likelihood he wouldn’t be much help, he did it anyways. 

Steve watched Bucky fumble with his gloves, pull his grey beanie down over his ears. “We do this, you follow my lead” Steve gave orders like he’d been doing this his whole life. Bucky nodded, licking his chapped lips. 

“Take cover if there’s shooting and get out of there. Careful not to run at cops, it’s hard to tell people apart in the dark. You remember where Sam’s house is?”

“Yes” Bucky said, clambering onto his bicycle. Like he could forget. 

“Meet up there if anything happens, or you get hurt. I don’t think the clinic or the hospital are going to be protected”

Steve’s cold calculations made sense. Just because a gang member made it to the hospital didn’t mean they were safe. The police were already scrambling, there wouldn’t be extra officers. Injured enemies made for easy picking by the other side. 

“Got it” Bucky said. 

“Alright,” Steve replied, “Let’s go” 

They pushed off, diving into the evening light and dropping temperature. Past the confusion of buildings, turning down into the winding hills of residential streets. Beat up houses, every third with a broken window, had lawns sprinkled with the neon of discarded children’s toys. Cars on cinderblocks lurked in patches of weeds, collections of broken bottles whirred by. Bucky kept his eyes on Steve, ears straining for the telltale pop of gunfire. 

It didn’t take long. The echoes of sirens wailed down from the curling hill, Bucky was sweating despite the cold, skin sticking to the innermost layer of his jackets. Steve rolled up a short driveway of a home with peeling paint. Jumping off his bike, Steve let himself in without bothering to knock while Bucky stood guard, casting nervous glances up and down the street.

Hurry up Steve, Bucky thought, drumming his fingers on the handlebars. The faster they could get the word out, the sooner they could hunker down at Sam’s place. 

Clint and Natasha had the right idea, Bucky grumbled, wishing he could see further around the corner, wishing the road they were on wasn’t a dead end. Natasha had breezed in before the first cop car passed by; told Steve she and Clint were holing up at the coffee shop in case things got completely out of control and the friendly neighborhood lowlifes thought they could get away with some looting. 

Not that Steve would listen. Bucky was bouncing his heel now, rubbing what was left of his numb fingers together. Hurry up Steve, he urged silently. Hurry up. 

They repeated this pattern several times over the next hour, Steve running into houses, encouraging the occupants to contact everyone they knew who lived higher up the hill, made sure any family members in a gang knew what the threat was, who was causing the disturbance. Bucky nervously stood guard, wishing he’d brought something to defend himself with. 

Light from the weak sunset had faded fast, leaving them drowning in shadows that were hardly diminished by rusty streetlamps. Each stop brought them closer to the intermittent sirens; Bucky was hyperaware of what might be short burst of gunfire. Handguns didn’t spray like that; somebody had a semiautomatic. If the cops were outmatched, what did that make the rest of them?

It was around 8 when Steve came running out of the latest battered house, rushed unlike their previous departures. “Sam and Riley are in trouble,” Steve said, “They set up a barricade on 14th street, but 16th in vulnerable. Police are busy further up the hill. Nobody can get over there.” 

“You have a plan?” Bucky asked, because he knew that look by now – Steve had something in mind, wasn’t about to back down. Which was so bad. Because Bucky would follow him. 

“I’m going over there.” Steve said, resolute “Sam left his truck at the end of the block, 16th street is pretty narrow. They’re mostly doing drive by’s now, if I can block the road with the truck, it should slow them down. At the least, buy more time for Fury’s men or the police.” 

“I’m coming with you” Bucky said. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Buck–”

“You don’t have time to get the keys from Sam. Do you know how to hot wire a truck?” Steve scowled “Didn’t think so” Bucky said. Shit. Fuck. What was he doing?

Bucky spun his bike around without another word. They covered ground quickly, urgently. Past a street that flashed blue and red, past another with a flaming car lighting up dark figures. A loud bang split the air as they peeled by. Bucky swallowed hard, ducking his head and nearly missing Sam’s truck at the next corner. 

Steve broke the window with his bat so Bucky could climb in and snap off the lower half of the console. Hunching awkwardly, Bucky fussed with a tangle of wires below the steering wheel. He used to be good at this. Took him all of 30 seconds to realize he still was. 

“Get out” Steve said, as the engine grumbled to life. Bucky wrapped his hands around the icy steering wheel, hovering on the edge of another stupid decision. No, this one was worse than stupid. Probably suicidal. 

“Bucky.” Steve was crowding him, putting his hand on the wheel next to Bucky’s “Get. Out.”

“I can’t” Bucky managed, opening his mouth to explain that he had to do this. Steve was better, Steve shouldn’t–

The crack of a bullet slamming through the windshield a few inches from Bucky’s face ended that impending argument. Fuck. 

Steve scrambled into the backseat, slamming the door as Bucky mashed on the gas. Another bullet hole joined the first, Bucky flinched and swerved. In the dark, Bucky couldn’t tell where the shots were coming from. Hopefully he could outdistance them. 

“Turn right!” Steve yelled in his ear. Bucky complied, jamming the wheel to the side. A smattering of gunfire tore through the air, peppering the side of the truck. The truck tipped, sending Bucky slamming into the driver side door. His side burned from the impact, unexpectedly sharp; they made it around the corner with the tires skidding on ice. 

Speeding by houses, the wind whipped in the broken window. The night was lit only by their headlights cutting into the dark; the row of streetlamps had ended at the last corner. Bucky watched as the road narrowed, doublewide trailers inching closer on each side. 

“Here” Steve said, slapping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky cranked the wheel again, fishtailing the truck. They ended sideways, taking up most of the road. As the truck groaned, Bucky fought to get his bearings, trying to adjust to the sudden stillness. 

Steve crawled into the passenger seat, reached down by Bucky’s legs and pulled the dangling wires apart. The engine died with a low growl. 

Bucky locked eyes with Steve, stunned. Steve looked back with equal parts shock and something resembling affection. The whole situation was insane, out of control, but hey, mission accomplished. Bucky felt numb. He was distracted, filled with the need to confirm this reality. Just needed to make sure they actually did that, that Steve was real. Steve didn’t move when Bucky reached a hand up, was absolutely still– 

Then an SUV, nearly invisible in the dark with its headlights off, came barreling down the hill. Bucky saw it half a second before the impact, Steve’s only warning was Bucky’s breath catching in his chest. Steve twisted, was halfway to looking out the window when it impacted. The vehicles crashed together horribly, metal screeching, glass crunching, a horn blared and cut out. 

Slowly, silence returned as darkness settled in around the wreckage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so nobody freak I'll post the next part on Thursday. Not that chapter 9 has a less stressful ending. Ehehehehe. 
> 
> And as usual, thanks a million billion for the comments, you guys are...well I don't know how to put it lightly, you're really life savers. Things kinda suck right now, and I'm glad I have this one thing going for me. And by that I mean there are nice people on the internet willing to read my drabble. So thanks again, sorry for ranting about myself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty more action. And something else :)

Bucky came to contending with a face full of airbag. Flailing a little, Bucky was forced to stop when his side flared up, robbing him of coherent thought. Ow. 

Bucky gazed, uncomprehendingly, out the windshield. His view was tiled. Skewed. Wrong. As the secondary restraint system deflated with a hiss, Bucky concluded the ground was…that way – his cheek was resting on asphalt. Which meant the truck was on its side. Mystery number one solved. 

From above him, Steve groaned. In the dark, he was hard to make out, hanging down from where the door was concave, slumped against the console. Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking around. 

They were in trouble. Every breath Bucky took was another knife between his ribs; the truck was creaking around them, twisted metal rapidly cooling. And they weren’t alone. 

Bucky could hear muffled shouting. Shit. They needed to get out. He had to get to Steve, get them out, now. Peering at the mostly intact windshield, Bucky stretched his arm out. He could barely reach the splintered safety glass, pulled back with a gasp when his side felt like it was tearing apart. 

“Bucky?” Steve said, startling him. “I’m...I’m stuck.”

“Uh,” Bucky said, considering the options, “Uh…” If Steve was stuck, there was no way that door would open, and Bucky’s exit was flush with the street. Which left the windshield that he couldn’t reach. Bucky’s mind slipped back to Steve. “Are you hurt?” There was a pause that sent Bucky twisting frantically, grimacing, trying to get Steve into view. 

“I don’t think it’s bad.” Steve said. Bucky’s eyes ran from where Steve had his hands pressed to the dashboard to keep himself from hanging sideways, to where his leg was trapped. “I can still feel it,” Steve said, “So that’s good, right?”

“Yeah” Bucky said. The voices outside were getting louder. Bucky’s hope was fading fast. They were trapped; there wasn’t a way out. He couldn’t believe this. The whole situation was fucking ridiculous. He was going to die, next to Steve, in this goddamn truck. This wasn’t even his idea. Wasn’t Steve’s either, really. They just reacted, were trying to help. 

It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Just was. 

The crack of a gun sounded, frighteningly close. Bucky scrabbled uselessly, imagining the crime scene pictures: the two of them, draped over the truck’s interior, blood and brains sprayed out over the seats. Or, better yet, smoke blackened corpses discovered after the fire was put out; metal melted and contorted around a pair of bodies burned beyond recognition. Outside, footsteps crunched. Shouting increased, the sound of people running. 

Then things really heated up. Gunfire blasted from both sides, a few bullets pinged off the truck bed. Bucky pushed his legs out from under the wheel, rolling over to get his hands under him despite the blinding pain cutting through him. He had to do something. 

Suddenly the windshield splintered with a crackling thump. Outside, somebody stepped back and hit it again. This kick made a hole large enough to get a hand through, with a grunt the whole panel was torn free. A man in a uniform crouched down, greeting a shocked Steve and Bucky with a huge grin under his bushy moustache. 

“Howdy.” Bucky stared. He knew this guy; the cops were always visiting. Dugan. He was almost positive. “Glad to see you both made it,” Dugan said, “Let’s get you out of here.” Stooping, Dugan grabbed Bucky by his arms, tugging him out – Get Steve – was all Bucky wanted to say, but the air was driven out of his lungs as he was dragged over the hood, side exploding in agony. 

Dugan plopped him down on a crumbling sidewalk and hurried back to the truck. Bucky’s breath made clouds of smoke in front of him; he wrapped his arms around himself, side burning, and shivered. Outside, the wreck looked even worse. In the flashing red and blue of two cop cars, Bucky could see the utter destruction of Sam’s truck. Not that the SUV fared much better, with the engine block resting where the front seats should be. Behind the wheel, a shape was slumped over, unmoving. Bucky looked away. 

It was taking Dugan longer to get Steve. Mortia and Jones came over to check on Bucky where he was anxiously waiting, holding his side. 

“A road block is usually more effective if you get out of the vehicle.” Morita said. Jones threw Mortia a dirty look, put his hand on his hips. 

“We appreciate the help,” Jones said, more kindly “That was the last of them, we think. Been chasing these guys half the night.” He sighed, shaking his head “This job just keeps getting weirder.” 

Dugan approached with a limping Steve. Bucky made to stand, ended up grabbing Jones for support to keep from doubling over. “Careful there,” Mortia said, “You two need the hospital?”

Steve shook his head “It’s not safe.” He glanced over his shoulder at the wreckage “We could use a ride though” 

The cops were happy to oblige. Bucky and Steve sprawled out in the back seat of a patrol car; Steve occasionally giving directions, Bucky watching houses and lights flashing by the barred window. 

According to Jones and another officer Bucky had met once – Falsworth – the fighting was dying down. The men in the black SUVs had greater firepower but no abundance of skill. Their numbers dwindled; most of the fight went out of them after a group from Fury found their communication hub, pulled the plug. Loki had been arrested half an hour ago, would be facing a long list of charges.

They wound up at Sam’s, hobbling to the door with a wave to the police as they drove off. Steve pulled a key from under the mat. They made it to the living room, unsteadily supporting each other before falling on the couch. 

The sagging couch dipped under their weight, sliding them together till their legs were touching. Bucky didn’t mind, and Steve didn’t move, so he guessed it didn’t matter. Lying there, Bucky decided couches were just about the best invention ever. He wasn’t comfortable in the least, but this was much, much better then standing. 

“Aw, man” Bucky said, suddenly remembering. 

“What?” Steve turned his head, concerned. 

“I just got that bike.” Steve stared, mouth open but no words coming out. “I spent, like, 35 dollars at Walmart.” Bucky huffed “I liked that bike.” Bucky turned so he was face to face with Steve, their noses a few inches apart. “What?” 

“You’re something else, you know that?” Steve said fondly. 

“Guess I do now” Bucky shot back. The crash was buzzing in the back of his mind, and his side hurt when he breathed, but all Bucky could concentrating on was Steve, who was giving him the most particular look. 

“I know I told you to get out,” Steve said, eyes flickering to Bucky’s collar “but I’m glad you didn’t.” Steve flinched, grabbed ahold of the front of Bucky’s jacket. “Not cause, like, I wanted you to be in an accident, I don’t mean–” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, swallowing “Me too.” The air between them was buzzing, electric. Since the collision, Bucky felt weirdly calm. Steve was okay, mostly. So was he. Bucky leaned a little closer, till their noses were practically touching. 

“Is this okay?” Bucky couldn’t stop himself from asking, he just, he had to be sure if–

Steve pressed in, bringing their lips together slowly, kissing him closed mouthed. Bucky couldn’t help it, he kissed Steve back. Steve’s lips were soft and perfect, Bucky could feel Steve smiling against his mouth. Bucky scooted closer as Steve tugged on his jacket, brought his hand up to cradle the back of Steve’s neck– 

Steve tensed up, drew back with concern stamped on his face. Bucky’s heart dropped, he could feel everything fall apart inside of him. He fucked up. Went too far and this was it. The one good thing he had going for him and he lost it. Bucky tried to stand. He needed to go. Now. 

“Bucky, wait!” Steve’s voice was panicked, fearful. Bucky stopped moving, heart jumping in his throat. Steve had a hold of his jacket, looked horrified. 

“What?” Bucky could barely whisper, he was so damn scared. 

“You’re…you’re bleeding” Steve pulled his hand back, fingers slick. 

“Oh” Bucky hadn’t been paying much attention to the pain from earlier. In the truck, he’d hardly been able to move for it, but when Dugan pulled him clear he sat on the sidewalk fine. The ride to Sam’s was a bit of a blur, but he’d mostly felt numb. Staring at Steve’s bloody fingers, Bucky didn’t know what to think. Hopefully Sam wouldn’t mind the blood on his couch. 

Steve was on his cell phone, listing Sam’s address and telling them to hurry, please, they had to hurry. 

“S’okay, Stevie” Bucky said, patting Steve’s knee. Whatever it was hurt, to be sure, but no worse than when they arrived. Bucky had been thinking bruised ribs. That was all. Steve was up, came running back with a washcloth. With the overhead light turned on, it was a little more obvious, but not much. Something small and sharp had cut past Bucky’s collection of jackets. Blood was soaked through the bottom layers of material, only just reaching his outermost coat. Well shit. That was never going to wash out. He was going to have to go with Natasha on another stupid trip to Goodwill. 

Bucky knew he should be freaking out, but Steve seemed to have that pretty well covered. Steve was breathing fast, folding up the towel and placing it gingerly on Bucky’s right side, about halfway down. 

“I’m supposed to stop the bleeding,” Steve said, resting his hands over the square of material “This might hurt” Steve whispered. Bucky didn’t really care. Whatever. 

When Steve pressed down, Bucky just about screamed, locking his jaw at the last minute. The sound that came out was somewhere between a cry and a whimper. Bucky didn’t know what was causing him to leak blood all over Steve’s hands, but he knew exactly what pressure on broken ribs felt like. He’d been on the receiving end of several hard kicks to the chest once, and the sensation never really faded from his memory. 

Steve’s hands faltered, Bucky skewed up his face. 

“St-Steve?”

“Yeah Bucky?” Bucky studied Steve’s face; the way his hair fell across his forehead, a freckle, his eyes. “What is it?” Steve asked. 

What the hell, Bucky thought, it would appear he had nothing left to lose. “I really like you.” Bucky said languidly. “Like, a lot.” 

Steve made a choked noise, halfway to a sob. “Yeah,” Steve said, “I really like you too.”

Outside, an ambulance pulled down the street, blaring its arrival. In Bucky’s opinion, there were suddenly far too many people in the room. His distress tripled when they pushed Steve out of the way. Bucky couldn’t catch his breath, even when they snapped the oxygen mask on – he didn’t want that, he wanted Steve. 

In the back of the ambulance, they found each other again, Steve interlacing their fingers and holding on for dear life. Bucky didn’t want to let go ever, but they were pushing a needle into the crook of his arm, which was unpleasant, but he didn’t have much say. 

With the majority of his decision-making abilities out of his hands, Bucky settled for watching Steve. Shoved in a corner, Steve was crouching with one hand wrapped around Bucky’s, the other gripping his shoulder. This wasn’t so bad, Bucky thought, all things considered. He didn’t really mind if Steve was the last thing he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Hope no one is traumatized too badly. I swear, after this chapter things sort of/kind of are less terrible (not really. But there is more character development for a few chapters and less shooting. Briefly.) 
> 
> Thanks again lovelies! 
> 
> Oh and in response to the 'how many life threatening situations can these boys get into' question, the answer is infinite. There will be more. Cause thats what I know how to write, in a way. Glad you all are enjoying this weird/crazy thing I am attempting!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That was exciting. Have some hospital schmoop and admire Natasha
> 
> [And a disclaimer: I (like Bucky) do not like hospitals. Therefore, based on a few (brief) experiences, this portrayal of hospitals may be very off. My former-nursing-major girlfriend has informed me there are several mistakes, so I apologize in advance. Think of it as creative liberty if you will. Thanks.]

Intensive care was exactly the nightmare Bucky remembered. In any other circumstance, he would have rather bled out in the parking lot than entered a hospital alive. Last time he’d been hauled in – fighting them every step of the way – he was restrained, drugged out of his mind, and had been marched out three days later in handcuffs. 

Since then, hospitals held a sinister quality; too bright and isolated. Full of doctors and police who wouldn’t listen, because he’d had enough pain medication, didn’t need anymore, shouldn’t fake it. Bucky had left hurt and confused; no longer certain that his definition of pain was real. 

He thought he felt pain, but the doctors were mostly convinced he should be fine, the police said he was lying – was he? The lines were tangled, the following month of subpar jail food and underpaid clinicians increased Bucky’s doubts; it was his fault, he fucked up, wasn’t worth the pain medication. And most of all: hospitals were bad. 

Except this time, Bucky had Steve. 

When Bucky jerked awake and saw the white walls, slick plastic curtains, door shut, machine beeping and he couldn’t catch his breath – Steve was there. The room was still menacing, waiting, but had nothing on the feeling of Steve’s fingers wrapped around Bucky’s, telling Bucky to listen to him, look at him, he was okay. Gradually, the rest of the room faded and Bucky fell back into his desolate, dreamless sleep.

And the next time Bucky woke up and immediately made to rip out the dreaded IV, Steve was there. Steve wrapped his hands around where the needles dug into Bucky’s skin, moved in close next to Bucky and told him over and over and over that it was okay, he was okay, go back to sleep. 

As the sun began inching up over the horizon, flooding the room with light, Bucky stirred. This time, he didn’t have the chance to panic; he didn’t want to risk waking up Steve. Bent over, leaning off the uncomfortable contours of a hospital chair, Steve had his arms folded and his head resting on Bucky’s leg. 

Bucky watched Steve’s shoulders rise and fall lightly. He could feel each breath, warm through the sheets. Bucky was stiff, but his body was pumped so full of whatever was dripping down the tubes he could breathe without his broken ribs interfering. In fact, whatever it was sliding out of the tubes and into his system was doing better than that. He didn’t care that Steve was too close or should have gone home and slept in a real bed. Bucky was happy Steve was there, that was all. 

Bucky spent the next hour lazily admiring the way the midmorning light made Steve’s hair go all translucent. This was fine, Bucky decided, as long as Steve was there, this was fine. His musing was interrupted by a knock on the door. Bucky scowled.

No, Bucky thought, clenching his fists. Go away. No doctors or whatever allowed. Maybe if he was quiet, whoever it was would just go away and leave them alone. 

No luck. The door opened with a harsh click. Steve snapped up and nearly tipped over when he hit the back of his chair. Bucky missed the feeling of Steve’s cheek resting on his thigh instantly. The door swung wide; a nurse in green scrubs with dark curly hair walked in. 

“Good morning” she said briskly, moving purposefully to the tower of humming machinery on Bucky’s right. Steve yawned, rubbing at his eyes and squinting in the morning light. Bucky watched, bemused. Sighing with his whole body, Steve glanced at Bucky and did a complete double take. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, throat scratchy “Hey Stevie” 

Steve smiled and Bucky decided he was going to dedicate the rest of his life to keeping that smile on Steve’s face. Because it was perfect.

“Hey yourself” Steve said. Smile aside, Steve looked horrible. The circles under his bloodshot eyes were black, his clothes were rumpled and there was a purplish mark along his jaw on the right side. Bucky doubted he looked much better. “You scared the hell outta me, you jerk.”

“Yeah” Bucky said. He hadn’t meant to. “Sorry”

“It’s okay” Steve said, giving Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze that sent a shiver down his spine. “But…never again, okay?” 

“Yeah” Bucky agreed. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of making lasting promises at the moment, but this was Steve, so he should at least try. 

“Can you turn this way?” Bucky would have jumped if he were any less sedated. He’d forgotten the nurse was there. She gave him a once over, then tugged up the hospital dress to check the bandages. Looking down, Bucky got his first view of the perfect square of white gauze-looking stuff taped over a few square inches of his lower torso. His chest was coloring with dark bruises that were tender under the nurse’s inspection. 

She finished quickly, professionally, and told them the doctor would be in shortly. This, of course, sent the heart rate machine off, glowing green numbers climbing sporadically. 

The nurse calmly returned to the monitor, asked Bucky how he was feeling. Bucky shrugged and made a serious attempt to crush Steve’s fingers. 

“Don’t worry, he’s pretty friendly,” she said, patting his shoulder. Bucky did his best not to flinch. He was tired of her touching him, even in assurance. He didn’t know her. “Plus, you’re healing nicely. I’ll be back to check on you later.” And she was gone. 

“Nothing to worry about Buck,” Steve said, handing him a cup of water. Bucky looked at the cup. Seemed like Steve was always pushing water at him. Whatever. He took a sip, willed the monitor to slow. It didn’t. At all. Bucky bit his lip, hard. If a doctor came in, he might make Steve leave. Then he would be alone. 

“I’m right here Buck” Steve said, reading his mind. Reaching up, Steve tilted Bucky’s face up gently. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Bucky let his eyes drift shut. The gesture was familiar, comforting; Bucky liked the feeling of Steve’s fingertips resting lightly on his jaw - but Steve was only one part of his surroundings. Bucky felt hyperaware of the blank white walls, closed door. You don’t belong here, an ugly part of his mind reminded him. You’re fine. You’re faking. “Don’t like hospitals” Bucky mumbled. 

“This is nothing like last time,” Steve said emphatically. Bucky opened his eyes, frowning. 

“How’d you–?”

“Natasha was here last night.” Steve said, dropping his hand to Bucky’s lap. “I’m so sorry Buck. This is different. I promise.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to say…something, when the door creaked open again. Steve pulled his hand back as a tall, entirely unremarkable man in a lab coat entered. 

“Mr. Barnes,” he said, picking up the clipboard hanging off the foot of the bed and scanning it “You’re awake. Always a good sign.” He smiled and introduced himself with a strange name Bucky forgot instantly. Bucky didn’t need to know anything about him, the distrust he felt was already there, palpable. “According to the charts, we should have you out of here in a few days.” 

Bucky nodded tersely. Like hell he was going to stay that long. Bucky glared, flicking his eyes from the pristine white of the lab coat – which he did not like – to the lumpy pockets – which he liked even less. The doctor continued, uninterested or oblivious to Bucky’s hostility. 

“You came in with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. We removed the fragment; fortunately it was lodged in muscle tissue. Kept it from hitting any internal organs. You’re very lucky.”

He was in a hospital. Bucky didn’t feel very lucky. “Why didn’t he feel it?” Steve asked. 

“Delayed pain onset,” the doctor explained. “Can be a side effect of shock. Also, Mr. Barnes, you have 4 broken ribs. That was probably distracting from other symptoms”

No shit. Bucky was done with this conversation, had been since the guy said being awake was a good sign. Pointedly looking out the window, Bucky fidgeted with the edge of the sheets. Steve had questions, which was fine. Bucky wanted Dr. Whatever to leave. 

Steve noticed and convinced the doctor to finish their conversation in the hall, Steve limping behind with his ankle wrapped up. The door was left open; to Bucky’s immense relief he could see Steve. The reprieve didn’t last. Doubts were already gnawing at the base of Bucky’s skull. 

The doctor said he was fine. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to believe he was fine, because people in hospitals lied. Either that, or he was lying to himself. Again. It looked like he got shot – that wasn’t something he could fake. Couldn’t be wrong about the broken ribs – could he?

Bucky was rapidly working himself into a tailspin when Steve came back with answers to the questions Bucky was too afraid to ask. Steve said Bucky had been hit with a ricochet; Bucky wasn’t breathing out of a tube because the bullet passed through the truck door, slowing it considerably. He explained Bucky broke his ribs on the driver side door when the SUV hit because not all the airbags deployed. 

Bucky had sort of guessed that part, but he needed to hear Steve say it. When Steve told him, the damage became real, not all up in his head. Steve was honest, Steve wouldn’t lie and maybe the medication was making him a little loopy because all Bucky wanted to talk about was how getting the job at Steve’s store was the best thing ever, but they really needed a better organizational system. Seriously it was like a fucking maze in there. 

Steve found this amusing but took care not to laugh, and spent the day chasing visitors out whenever Bucky strayed off topic. Bucky wasn’t sure what to think about the people who dropped by. 

Sam visited after the doctor left; he was already at the hospital, two floors up watching over Riley. Riley was worse off than Bucky, had taken the brunt of an attack when he and Sam were herding kids out of a YMCA. The explosion Bucky and Steve had heard rumor of the night before had blown Riley back, he had some nasty burns. 

Sam came down; swapping places with Steve, since neither of them would leave their rooms empty for long. Sam looked as haggard at Steve, but was good enough to sneak Bucky a doughnut. 

Pepper breezed by later, gave Steve a hug and patted Bucky on the arm. Bucky kind of suspected she was there more to talk politics with Steve over what had gone down, but she didn’t have to come, so that was nice. 

A pair of police officers appeared in the afternoon. Dugan and Jones conversed with Steve and took the required incident statements. Unfortunate, how innocent bystanders could get caught up in this mess, Dugan said with a wink. Dreadful business. You boys stay safe. 

-

 

All in all, the day wasn’t as terrifying or horrible as it could have been. Bucky was halfheartedly plotting an early escape, but he was having a hard time thinking more than a few steps ahead. He wasn’t in pain or in handcuffs, so it shouldn’t be that complicated, he guessed. Overall, Bucky was feeling almost neutral about the experience when Natasha showed up and killed a man with a hypodermic needle.

Steve had left to get food, 8pm was closing in and Bucky bullied Steve into getting dinner by repeatedly poking him in the side. The door was open, TV droning on when heavy footsteps entered the room. 

The plan wasn’t exactly subtle. The man framed in the doorway hadn’t bothered to grab a lab coat or anything; his black cap was dusted with snow, each step left wet boot prints on the tile. Even with the ugly moustache shaved off, his face was recognizable. 

“Stev–” Was about all Bucky got out before the door slammed shut. Unhurriedly approaching the bed, the man slammed his elbow straight into Bucky’s chest. None of the drugs filtering into his system could have dulled that kind of pain. Bucky couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shout, gasping and choking as his vision swam. His chest was an explosion, cutting him apart from the inside out.

Leaning over him, the man uncapped a syringe with his teeth. He was bringing the gleam of metal towards Bucky’s neck when he was violently pulled backwards.

Bucky caught a flash of red hair as the would-be assassin staggered back. Natasha had materialized from nowhere. She had a hand around the man’s neck, kicked his legs out from under him and drove him to the floor in one fluid motion. He hit the ground hard, taking some of the medical equipment down with him. 

Bucky, dealing with the inability to breathe, grimaced when a stand fell and nearly pulled an IV line from his wrist. In the time it took for Bucky to get some slack for the tubes sprouting from his skin, Natasha had overpowered the man and pinned him down, twisting the syringe from his fingers. His mouth was working furiously (Bucky guessed haphazardly she’d been crushing his throat). Natasha cocked her head to the side, examining the clear liquid. Pausing, she tapped out a few bubbles with her free hand. 

“I wonder what this is,” she said, knees crushing his chest. “One way to find out.”

Bucky watched, queasy, as she bent over and plunged the needle into the man’s neck. The thrashing stopped in less than a minute; he went motionless, eyes unseeing. Dead. 

“Interesting,” she remarked, getting to her feet “I thought he’d go for Riley. No offense James,” she said, dragging the body to the bathroom effortlessly “I didn’t think you were high on HYDRA’s list.” 

Steve came back, saw Bucky pale faced and still fighting to catch his breath, and rounded viciously on Natasha. For half a second, Bucky thought Natasha looked taken aback. No. That wasn’t right. Natasha knew what she was doing. Must be the drugs. 

Steve was livid about the attack. Apparently, Natasha had been following leads all day, tracking HYDRA members seeking to capitalize on their rival’s misfortune. Steve steamed while he righted the upset medical equipment, glaring as Natasha removed the corpse from the bathroom; stuffing the body in a wheelchair and slapping sunglasses over the lifeless eyes. Bucky kept quiet, breathing shallow, watching events play out. He’d seen Steve irritated, frustrated and disgusted – but never angry. Not like this. 

The attack threw Bucky off. The hospital, already menacing, was now officially not a safe place. Slurring from the extra dose of pain medication Steve insisted on, Bucky tried to convince Steve to leave.

“S’not safe ‘ere” Bucky said, once the nurse from the station left. She had tried to get in earlier, but Natasha charmed her off at the door, talking in hushed tones about ‘panic attacks’ and ‘bad past experience’. Hadn’t been much of a lie, considering. 

“Which is why I’m staying” Steve said, leaving no room for argument. God, Bucky thought, why was Steve so stupid stubborn?

“Oh please,” Steve said, “Any stupid has rubbed off from you.”

Oops. Hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Punk” Bucky mumbled. It was getting harder and harder to stop his eyelids from falling shut. He didn’t mean what he was saying, not really. He wouldn’t have lasted this long without Steve. Maybe this was okay. But still…

“You should leave” Bucky said thickly. The room was melting a bit, darkness creeping. 

“No,” Steve said, holding tight to his hand as Bucky’s grip on consciousness slipped. “Not without you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Much less stressful! (sort of) Just so y'all know, this story has gone about 10k over budget, so the final product will be around 45k. I don't think this is a problem for anyone but me, seeing as editing has become something of a bear. oh well. As long as anyone is reading, I'll keep updating. 
> 
> And for always, as always, thanks for comments and kudos and the whole 9 yards. I'm glad you people are sticking around :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. What you've been waiting for (hopefully). Talking about feelings.

There wasn’t anything for it. When Bucky was told he would be discharged the next day, he knew he couldn’t go back to his place. Three days in and he was markedly more lucid, but his loops around the hospital floor left him winded. Stairs were a nagging concern in the back of his mind; climbing the fire escape ladder to his shitty apartment was an absurdity. Not happening. 

Since there wouldn’t be anyone at Sam’s, not till Riley healed, Steve’s apartment was the only option left. Natasha disapproved, wanted both of them out of town for a few days. Steve invariably argued. If she was staying, he had no reason to leave. Except Natasha had a very specific skill set, had access to safe houses and aliases that Steve and Bucky did not. 

The compromise involved both Fury and the police. Their impromptu roadblock was a hit with both groups; they agreed to loop by the store every other hour. This had the added benefit of protecting Clint’s coffee shop as well, Natasha begrudgingly relented. 

On Bucky’s last day in recovery, with release scheduled the next morning, Natasha waited for Steve to leave and ambushed Bucky. 

“Do you have a plan?” she asked without prompting. Bucky didn’t have to guess what she was talking about; the problem was already crawling around under his skin. Pain medication gave the world a fuzzy quality, so the itch wasn’t as bad as it could be – especially going on 5 days without. After leaving the hospital things could only go downhill. 

“Hadn’t been thinking about it” Bucky said, picking at his sheets. But he had. Briefly. And panicked. Briefly. Then gone back to sleep with Steve tracing patterns on the back of his hand. God, this was not going to end well. 

Natasha had reached a similar conclusion. “This isn’t something you can put off, James. You need to get out of here before the staff notices. Withdrawal is hard to miss,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. 

“I know” Bucky looked at her, really looked, trying to find some shred of compassion or indication she was going to help. Didn’t look like it. Maybe that was just her face. 

“I’m not in the habit of doing people favors,” Natasha said. Bucky knew this. He also knew he was usually the exception. Natasha paid her debts in full. “I can pick up whatever stuff you need from your place.” 

“What stuff?” Steve walked in, carrying his fourth cup of gross cafeteria coffee. 

“Clothes and stuff” Natasha said smoothly. Bucky didn’t think Steve would buy that, but Steve only raised an eyebrow. Natasha and Steve talked logistics for a while: when she would be back, who else was laying low. 

Bucky tuned out. He’d been awake for a couple of hours, his record was holding at four. Plus, he hadn’t gotten this much dreamless sleep in ages and it seemed appropriate to capitalize on this phenomenon. Probably had something to do with the drugs. Bucky was too tired to care. 

“James.” Bucky snapped his eyes open. Natasha was standing over him, with Steve’s mouth open in protest behind her. “Do you want me to pick up anything from your place?”

She was asking, but there wasn’t a question or choice to it. Bucky didn’t have an alternative. He nodded once and she was gone. Steve took his seat on Bucky’s left, where he’d been all day – hadn’t bothered Bucky a bit till now. 

“Hey Bucky?” Steve was too close for Bucky to pretend to be asleep, and besides, the heart rate monitor took joy in betraying him. Bucky turned to face Steve with some effort, torso barely protesting. There were limits in his range of motion; he’d discovered them quickly. Pain was motivating like that. 

“Yeah?” Bucky replied faintly. He was tired, he guessed. Or maybe he was pathetically afraid to face Steve after okaying Natasha to bring drugs into Steve’s house. God, he fucked up. Again. 

“You know you can talk to me,” Steve said, resting his hands on the bed, “About anything.” 

Bucky jerked his head in confirmation. A weight was crushing down on him, Bucky felt… wrong. His skin was heavy, pressure was building behind his eyes, chest empty. He was unbelievably tired. Not from the painkillers or wanting to get out of the hospital or because breathing was a chore. He was tired of making decisions that were always wrong. Tired of running away and finding new people to disappoint. Tired of being broken. 

Bucky didn't realize he was crying until Steve brushed away a tear with his thumb. “I’d help you Buck,” Steve said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “If you let me.” 

Words were jumbling around in Bucky’s head, the knee jerk ‘I’m fine’ was lumped in his throat.

“Please let me help” 

It was too much. Bucky didn’t – He couldn’t – Not at Steve’s house, after everything – 

“Okay” The word came out small and horribly garbled, but somehow Steve understood. Bucky was crying in earnest now, which hurt – so Steve moved closer and pushed Bucky’s hair out of his face, pressed Bucky’s shoulders back to keep him from folding over and hurting his broken ribs.

Being upset triggered one of the machines; a nurse arrived and pushed something into his bloodstream that took the strength out of his sobs, made him feel disconnected.

“I’ll call Natasha” Steve said, as Bucky began slipping. “Tell her not to bother.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to think about that. How did Steve know? But of course Steve knew. But did Natasha tell him? Did he tell Steve? Did it matter?

The last thing that crossed Bucky’s mind before he passed out wasn’t a question or concern. It was a fact, plain and simple: however this played out, it was going to be bad. 

-

It was worse. 

“Leave me ALONE” Bucky howled when the door opened “I don’t care. Go away.” He was tangled up in the sheets, had kicked the rest of the blankets off Steve’s bed. He’d been up most the night (like last night, and the night before) alternating between rolling around on the bed and puking his guts out in the bathroom. 

“It’s just me Buck,” Steve said, “Wanted to check up on you.” 

“Why?” Bucky asked, whimpering. “Why do you care?” Any day preceding this Bucky would have been horrified by the words spewing out, but his brain to mouth filter was gone (had been for a few days now). Bucky couldn’t bring himself to care. Every hateful half-truth, honest fear and wild speculation was bubbling up and spilling over.

“I told you Bucky,” Steve said, approaching the night stand, “I just do. You’re important to me, okay?” 

They’d been having this conversation and variations thereof for several days. Bucky knew the lines, but wouldn’t leave it alone. Five days since he’d been discharged and Bucky knew he wasn’t worth this and hated Steve and couldn’t believe Steve would do this for him and Bucky wanted to be better, wanted Steve to like him–

“M Sorry,” Bucky said, “I didn’t mean it.” Bucky slumped; wincing as his ribs pinched and tore at him when he moved. He had pills, but he didn’t want them. No more drugs. Steve caught Bucky trying to throw them out and confiscated them, setting off another round of arguments. 

“I don’t want to be here,” Bucky said, wringing his hands together. He could feel the sweat on his skin, tangles in his hair. Steve put a hand on his shoulder, reassuring while maintaining a safe distance. Last time Steve got too close Bucky shoved Steve – who wasn’t very steady on his ankle brace – and knocked Steve on his butt. This was followed by an hour of profuse apologies that Steve tried to wave off until Bucky grew sullen again. 

And so on. 

-

 

When enough time passed, Bucky’s worst days turned into bad days, with some yelling, but less. Then the bad days became okay; he could sleep most of the night, wasn’t as pale and feverish. Eventually, days were just days. 

Bucky found a way to stop saying everything that was on his mind, and could stand to be in a room with the light on. Steve let him help make food and left him alone for more than half an hour. Bucky insisted – quietly, reserved – on moving to the couch, because that was Steve’s room. Steve finally agreed. Bucky continued to refuse the pain medication right up to the point he twisted to grab something in the kitchen and woke up on the ground with no memory of falling besides a flash of pain. Steve saw, got stubborn, and Bucky relented. Some drugs did make a world of difference. 

December 11th, two weeks out of the hospital, Bucky made a small remark about his apartment, how he would miss having a kitchen. Steve stopped measuring out a handful of pasta, set the box down. 

“I thought you agreed to stay here.” Steve said, watching the water in the pot boil. 

“What?” Bucky looked up from a packet of sauce he was dumping into a bowl. Steve repeated himself. “When?” Bucky said, pushing up the sleeves of his oversized green sweater to begin mixing the pasta sauce. Steve glanced over his shoulder. 

“Last week” 

“I said a lot of things last week.” Bucky said, returning his attention to the mixing. “Wasn’t making a lot of sense.” He mumbled. The week was blurry, out of order, but Bucky had a short collection of unfavorable lucid memories. “I can’t just stay–”

“You can.” Bucky paused. Steve’s back was ramrod straight. Bucky leaned back from the counter, set the spatula down. 

“It’s not fair,” Bucky started. 

“How?” Steve shot back, turning, arms crossed over his grey tank top. “Explain to me how this is unfair.” Bucky stared. Steve was stubborn, stood firmly by his convictions, but wasn’t aggressive about it. Not with Bucky anyways. The whole conversation felt uncomfortable and foreign; Bucky hadn’t expected resistance to his departure. Figured any chance he had with Steve was shot to hell by the fantastically terrible way he’d treated Steve over the last two weeks. 

“What?” Steve said, moving to stand across the counter from Bucky “Why is it so hard to believe you can stay?” 

“It’s not that” Bucky couldn’t explain this. It just was. Steve was being ridiculous. Bucky had his hands pressed flat on the counter, the only thing separating the two of them. 

“Then what?” Steve wasn’t yelling, but he might as well have been. “What am I doing wrong?” 

“That’s not–” Bucky spluttered, mortified “Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Bucky swallowed “But I will. I just, I’ll mess up. I’m no good at…this” Bucky said. He crossed his arms hurriedly, digging his nails into his skin enough to hurt, to distract. He meant what he said, but that didn’t make it any better.

Steve’s expression wavered from frustrated to weary. Without the spark of anger, Steve looked worn down, older than a 26 year old had any right to be. “That’s okay” Steve said, muted. 

“No.” Bucky insisted, louder then he meant to. “It’s not,” he mumbled. “It’s not okay” Bucky’s voice cracked, he pulled away from the counter. 

Falling into a kitchen chair, Bucky pressed a hand over his mouth. He wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere. His chest hurt, but with none of the sharp stabs of the accident; this was an overpowering emptiness tugging at his insides. Shit. 

“I can’t stay” Bucky whispered. 

Bucky heard Steve sigh, listened to the steps as Steve rounded the counter. Then there was a hand on his arm, resting lightly – not restraining, just there. Just Steve. 

“I’m sorry Bucky,” Steve said, open, honest. Because Steve didn’t lie. Did he? “If you don’t want to stay, I won’t force you. It’s your choice.”

My choice, Bucky thought, my fault. Another opportunity to fuck up, break down, fall apart. Bucky slid his hand off his mouth, balled his hands into fists so hard they shook. 

“But Buck?” Steve’s hand gripped a little tighter. “Uh” Steve stuttered, taking a step closer. “I mean, it’s up to you but–” he swallowed. Bucky released his hands, looked up. Steve was working his jaw, cheeks pink. “I want you to stay” the last part came out in a rush. 

Bucky sat and watched Steve fidget and glance around the kitchen everywhere but him. Steve didn’t have to say that; he didn’t owe Bucky anything, certainly wouldn’t gain anything by having Bucky around unless – unless maybe – 

“Did you mean it?” Steve blurted suddenly, blush deepening “What you said at Sam’s house?”

That night had been running like fire through Bucky’s veins since he woke up at the hospital, but he’d just about dismissed it. Temporary insanity. Not to be brought up. 

But here was Steve, bringing it up. And if he was asking, maybe – just maybe – 

Not sure if he could speak, Bucky nodded. Steve gave a strangled laugh, fingers twisting in the material of Bucky’s sweater.

“Then stay,” Steve said, strained. “Please?”

Bucky couldn’t wrap his head around all of it at once. The whole thing was simple enough, sort of, and if this was really happening, then maybe, maybe… 

“Okay” Bucky said, heart skipping a beat, “If that’s, really – if you mean that…”

“I do” Steve was nodding, gave Bucky’s arm a little shake. “I like you Buck” Steve said, mouth quirked to the side “Like, a lot.”

Bucky ducked his head, searching for a way to explain his reluctance. He wasn’t trying to be difficult. “It’s just – hard to believe that.” Bucky said, shy. 

Steve snorted and tipped Bucky’s head back. “We can work on that.” Steve tucked Bucky’s hair behind his ear, fingers brushing across his temple. 

“Right” Bucky said, transfixed. Steve leaned in and stamped a kiss on Bucky’s forehead, then headed back around the counter. The kiss was nice and sweet and caring and protective – and nowhere near enough. 

“Wait,” Bucky said, standing. 

“Yeah?” Steve turned. Bucky pulled up short to avoid running Steve over. Bucky’s hands dropped, hovered by Steve’s waist. He could feel Steve’s breath on his face. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyes bright. Bucky’s head was whirling, ohholyfuckingshit that was stupid and impulsive – and exactly what he wanted. To be here. Steve was watching, not making any sudden moves or asking if anything was wrong. Maybe this was right. 

Tilting his head, Bucky let Steve draw him in to a kiss, settled his hands on Steve’s narrow hips. It was familiar and not, the way Steve pushed up on his toes for a better angle, reached up greedily to grab at the collar of Bucky’s sweater. 

The kiss was slow, lingering, punctuated by the way Steve was clutching at his sweater, keeping the distance between them at nothing. The kind of tough-love-careful Steve had been with Bucky since he got back; giving Bucky a chance, not telling him what to do. Bucky could feel his heart rate skyrocketing, threatening to thrum his insides apart. 

Steve felt Bucky falter, moved to kiss the side of Bucky’s mouth, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “No rush Buck.” Steve said, tugging at his shirt and giving him a look. 

“Alright” Bucky replied shakily. He felt better than he had in months – possibly years – and at the same time, he was bone tired. Standing was rapidly becoming too much effort. Steve, because he was Steve, noticed Bucky’s slump from the days and days Bucky would drop from highs to lows like a yoyo. 

Nosing up, Steve shared a final, quick kiss before getting ahold of Bucky and dragging him to the couch. Bucky followed Steve, brain buzzing with every iteration of ‘oh-my-god-that-happened’ he could imagine. But all of it faded, sank deep beneath the surface when Steve pulled him onto the couch. Situating him so Bucky’s head was in Steve’s lap, Steve carded his fingers through Bucky’s hair, gently calming him down. 

It was vaguely reminiscent of the first night Bucky saw Steve hurt and helped with the asthma attack. Except this time, Steve had a grip on him, was grounding Bucky. They sat like that for a while, till Steve’s stomach growled and he squeezed Bucky's shoulders before climbing up to finish dinner. Bucky stayed on the couch a few minutes more before getting up to help, tired and elated and vaguely aware that this was what it felt like to have a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well….hope that met everyones expectations. I live in fear of dialogue, and wow was there a lot of it in this chapter. I may go into hiding under a rock. 
> 
> As it is, we have just skated past the halfway point (yikes!) and as of last night I finished with my rough draft, so there shall be no more concern over an unfinished WIP :) Wrapping up also inspired me to have a posting schedule - and since college is starting up soon, I will have everything (and I mean everything: story + epilogue) up before the end of August. 
> 
> That being said, posting M/W/Sat is the new normal. For anyone questioning my bad math, there will be a day where I post 2 chapters at once (this will be explained in time. worry appropriately for the well being of these characters). 
> 
> Thanks again for all the wonderful support :) I wouldn't have made it this far without you guys.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort an an apology chapter for all of the horrible things I've been doing to the boys. Have some (mostly non-violent ) crack fluff.

“Thank you, have a nice day!” Bucky shouted over the din as two girls exited the shop, weighed down with gift bags. The door banged shut behind them, wind whipping in a furl of snow, sending decorations flapping and people scurrying. Bucky had a half second reprieve before–

“Excuse me, do you have any of the Rat Pack’s holiday records?” a forty-something lady with frighteningly silver fingernails asked, grabbing his arm. 

“We should…” Bucky said, peeling her fingers off his baggy red sweater. “Hey Steve!”

Across the store (which was crammed to capacity) Steve was balanced on a stepladder. Turning towards Bucky, Steve bumped his head on the twinkle lights and green garland that looped the ceiling. 

“What?” Steve yelled back, holding tight to an armload of albums. Each had a cover decorated with figures ice-skating on a frozen river, printed in fading ink. 

“You move Sinatra and Martin?” Bucky sidestepped a couple with squabbling children, eyeing the kids. They already lost one snow globe this week. Bucky silently willed them to stay away from the front counter. The penguins and their igloo had deserved better; the remaining snowmen had to be protected at all costs.

Steve disappeared in the crowd and reappeared by the register. “They should be under the snowflakes.” Steve said, using one hand to expertly snap open a bright bag. 

“Thanks!” Bucky turned back to the lady, who was pursing her lips like Bucky was deliberately wasting her time. “Right over here,” Bucky said, weaving past the poinsettia Natasha dropped off last week, around the ancient plastic reindeer, to a spot under their homemade newspaper snowflakes. 

“Almost everything we have from the Rat Pack is in this box.” Bucky said, slapping his hand on the tub of records. The container creaked ominously, Bucky made a metal note to get more duct tape wrapped around that crack. Box repair was 5 or 8 or 50 on his list of things that needed to be done yesterday. More pressing matters included finding more mats for the floor – so people wouldn’t slip, he knew they were around here somewhere – making a larger DO NOT ENTER sign for the back room – seriously people? – and finding another roll of receipt paper – they were down to one. 

“And if I can’t find what I’m looking for?” she wasn’t even facing him, using her silver claws to pick over the merchandise. Last week, Bucky would have been irritated but too tired to care. Now he was desensitized. 

She wasn’t being polite, but she wasn’t shouting either; there was a day that hadn’t gone well. A while ago, a hefty man who had a few inches on Bucky came in grumbling about customer service. Bucky plastered his best here-to-be-of-assistance expression on and asked if he could help. In return, the man erupted. He went off on a detailed rant explaining why Bucky couldn’t help and how the store was a train wreck. When Bucky tried to calmly refute, the man retorted that the only people who worked in this part of town, in a dump like this, where alcoholics and drug addicts, Merry Christmas.

Bucky stood listening, paralyzed amid the mash of customers until Steve overheard the man spewing abuse. Steve escorted the man from the premises, growling something threatening that Bucky missed. When Bucky asked later exactly what Steve said to send the man scurrying Steve replied ‘I told him he was right. This part of town is dangerous, especially for people like him. Then I suggested he leave if he valued the expensive looking car he’d parked in the handicapped spot across the street. Or if he valued his life.’ 

Bucky still spent the rest of the day on edge, but remained in the shop. Since returning to work and officially moving in with Steve, Bucky figured out he had his worst days when he was alone. Too much time to think and pick apart all of the progress. Bucky worked harder to fight through the bad days – when he felt like shit and knew he was worthless – by staying busy. As Christmas neared, it was impossible not to be. 

Gathering the last of his early morning customer service energy (he seriously needed more caffeine. Maybe he’d run to over to Clint’s after this) Bucky gave her the cursory working class answer. “If you need any help, I’ll be around the store” and ran off to scare the children away from Steve’s snow globe collection. Did they think this was a game?

\- 

 

Around noon, Bucky noticed the stack of envelopes under the tip jar had vanished. Good thing too, Bucky mused, changing the music from Jingle Bell Rock to Elvis’ Blue Christmas. Stark liked to close early on Wednesdays. Natasha took some bizarre pleasure from making deliveries last minute. Probably just to irritate Tony. She’d been covering for them the last couple weeks, for an undisclosed fee she and Steve worked out. Apparently this was an annual agreement between the two of them when December hit since Natasha had a car (or several). With limited daylight and 6 inches of snow, biking was unacceptably dangerous even by Steve’s standards. 

Narrowly avoiding getting beaned by a massive handbag, Bucky skipped around bulky coats to the front counter. Lifting their tip collection of crumpled ones and miscellaneous change, he checked for any recent updates. After the hospital incident, HYDRA had mostly backed off. The weather was an effective deterrent for unscrupulous activity. From gun running to drug distribution, everyone was downsizing as sleet and ice reigned supreme. Even small-scale deals were going down in warmer places; Steve and Bucky had worked out a few agreements to divide up the shopping mall. Territories were organized to keep rival groups from trading brightly wrapped merchandise in front of the same JC Penny. 

Sticky notes were a rare occurrence, usually short bursts of information if anything was happening in real time. Finding a lime green square, Bucky peeled it off the counter. Bucky read the note, frozen in place, oblivious to the chaos around him. Shit. Tripping back into a table, Bucky headed straight for Steve. Across the store, Bucky stepped between Steve and a bespectacled customer. 

“They hit the recruitment center.” Bucky said, “Natasha doesn’t have details.”

Steve’s entire body tensed. “Do you know who was working–”

“No.” Bucky said, feeling his stomach drop. Sam and Rhody had been alternating Wednesdays. Bucky could never keep track. 

“Hello?” The customer behind Bucky tapped him on the shoulder. Bucky ignored him. 

“Think this is isolated, or they’re doing a sweep?” Bucky asked. Sam and Rhody weren’t members of Fury, but gang members could still be at risk. Attacks were often coordinated to make things difficult for the police and paramedics. Steve was chewing on the inside of his lip. 

“I’m not sure. You thinking phone tree?” Steve had built up a network of dealers and car thieves low on the food chain who could contact bigger fish in case of emergencies, using burner phones. The only drawback was that after the word was out, they had to buy and distribute another 15 Tracphones.

“Excuse me” the tapping on Bucky shoulder was getting insistent. Bucky whipped around, startling the guy. 

“Thank you so much for your patience,” Bucky said, with a frightening amount of false cheer “We’ll be right with you.” Bucky turned back to Steve, who was poorly concealing a grin despite the bad news. “Want me to get it started?” Bucky asked. 

“Alright,” Steve said, passing a hand over his face “Shit. I hope Riley’s not home alone.” Bucky swallowed, mind running to worst-case scenarios. If HYDRA was targeting Sam and Rhodey, more than one target could be at risk; HYDRA could be counting friends and family as fair game in a situation like this. At least Sam had moved here from out of town. Bucky didn’t know about Rhodey. 

Ducking out to the back room to make the calls, Bucky finished quickly, then resigned to waiting impatiently for news. An hour later, Clint showed up to give them a run down. The best news was also the most recently confirmed: no fatalities. 

The recruitment center would need new windows, but Rhody survived with nothing more than a graze. Steve’s all call reached Sam and Riley in time; they relocated to an army buddy’s house before Riley’s bedroom was on the receiving end of a hail of bullets. 

All in all, the day ended on a positive note. Nobody had died, and HYDRA was back on their radar, plans revealed. The police were officially opening an investigation into the white supremacist group, linking the attacks through identical bullet casings found at the separate crime scenes. 

Steve and Bucky closed down the shop at 6 and trudged up to their apartment for a dinner of leftover lasagna Bucky attempted to bake on Monday. Hadn’t turned out half bad. 

After eating, Bucky surprised Steve by plopping down two tubes of frozen sugar cookie dough. In a brave (or stupid) move yesterday, Bucky snuck out on his lunch break and ran down to the decrepit Safeway 3 blocks away. Steve and Bucky had an agreement to keep each other appraised of their location all the time, so they could make sure the other was safe. But Bucky wanted this to be special. 

“Clint said we should bring something, you know, for the Christmas Eve party” Bucky said, suddenly nervous Steve would be mad he’d gone off on his own. He needn’t have worried. Steve lit up like their scrawny, tinsel covered Christmas tree, pulled Bucky in for a kiss and ran around to crank up the oven to 350°. 

They spent the next half hour cutting out shapes with butter knives and eating cookie dough. Once the first batch was in the oven, they landed on the couch and flipped a coin to determine what Christmas movie they would watch tonight. To Bucky’s despair, Die Hard won over Lethal Weapon. 

They took turns jumping up to pull pans from the oven when the timer blared. One batch got a little crispy around the edges because Bucky didn’t want to miss the helicopter scene; Steve’s VHS player didn’t have a reliable pause button. Finishing the movie, they returned to the kitchen and set about making their treats edible via the liberal application of several containers of frosting. 

Steve was more impressive at spreading frosting (as Bucky predicted) but had no grasp of which sprinkles mixed well. 

“You can’t sacrifice taste for the look” Bucky insisted, trading out the cinnamon dots for tiny Christmas trees. 

“I had no idea you were such a coinsurer of cookie decoration,” Steve teased, smearing blue frosting over a badly deformed snowman. 

“Mom used to bake” Bucky said, sprinkling a sparkly red cascade on what may have been a star, now charred and missing a point. Now that he was living with Steve, Bucky started sharing a trickle of details from his past, when things came up. Bucky had kept such a tight lid on his life before slumming it in that derelict apartment, the occasional reminders – sparked by living in an actual house – crawled to the surface from time to time. Some were nice, some less pleasant. Steve was a good listener though, let Bucky wander from topic to topic, let him vent when certain memories ignited resentment and anger Bucky had been sitting on for years. 

“She gave me hell for stealing groceries,” Bucky continued, not looking up from dumping flashy red sugar on the star “but we used ‘em anyways. Unless Dad was home.” Bucky scowled “Then everything went out the window.”

“Bucky.”

“Wasn’t like I got caught. Angie bailed me out the one time I was arrested, but that wasn’t even for stealing food. If inhalers weren’t so damn expensive–”

“Bucky, hey–”

“I knocked over the same drug store after she got me out, cause they wouldn’t expect it, right? I mean, how was Grace supposed to breathe? She shouldn’t have to live like that, and then I just left–”

“Bucky,” Steve had ahold of his wrist. “I think that’s enough sprinkles.” 

“Oh” The star on the counter was buried under a glittering red mountain. “Okay.” 

“You wanna talk?” Steve asked. 

Bucky shook his head. He hadn’t meant to go off like that. 

“Okay” Steve said, removing his hand to pick up two unidentifiable shapes. “You want a tree or a reindeer?” 

They continued decorating, talking about the gifts they used to think they’d get and disastrous Christmas dinners. Finishing, they covered their accomplishments in plastic wrap before heading to bed. Bucky slept for a record three hours before jolting awake, panicked and out of breath, black SUV crashing through his dream.

The nightmares had started as his ribs healed and the doctors began dialing down the pain medication. Bad dreams ranged from the car crash impact to Steve dead in the passenger seat to Natasha never showing up at the hospital and getting a needle driven into his neck. 

Bucky would wake up sweating, shaking and terrified. He’d stumble out of the bedroom – which was too dark on confining – and huddle on the couch after turning on every lamp in the room. Right after a nightmare, with everything fresh and vivid, Bucky needed a few minutes to himself. Even a hug was too much, fear was irrevocably tied to the need to run, get away, escape. 

Steve would give him some time, then come out wrapped in a blanket and curl up next to Bucky. They would talk about everything and nothing, with Steve tracing designs on Bucky’s skin. Eventually tired would win out over anxious; Bucky would tag along after Steve and hold onto his boyfriend – cause Steve said they were dating and Bucky was okay with that – listening as Steve’s breathing evened out. Lying there, legs tangled up with Steve’s, Bucky could drift off, not all the way to a normal life, but content with the one he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is very true, I have a serious and powerful affection for the holidays. So that's kind of an excuses. The upcoming chapter to be posted on Monday is entirely the fault of JK Rowling, since gift giving and getting is my absolute favorite part of every HP book. 
> 
> Enjoy the fluffy reprieve while it lasts! 
> 
> And to my valued regular readers, if there is any way to convey gratitude that I haven't yet accomplished, I am beholden to you. I may or may not be working on another AU already, if anybody has any suggestions (though I kind of have a direction) feel free to drop them in the comments.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo ~ so its christmas in august. I have no regrets.

On Christmas Eve, Steve and Bucky showed up at Clint’s coffee shop with what was left of their cookie making exploits (their taste testing got a little exuberant) just as the café closed. Natasha was already there, sporting a new curly hairdo and a slinky black dress. Steve declared her entirely lacking in festivity and – in what Bucky considered a suicide mission – snuck up behind her and stuck a Santa hat on her head. Steve survived, but ended up with reindeer antlers 15 minutes later. 

Bruce arrived with Jane and Darcy in tow; the science ladies had been hiding out at his lab since the catastrophe in Norseland. Thor and his entourage had been called back overseas by codename Odin. Even Jane wasn’t sure when Thor and the others would return. The three of them bustled in from the cold and immediately set about spiking the eggnog, bickering about ratios. 

Tony and Rhody came in with a massive box for Tony’s secret Santa. The crate did not fit under the tree where Natasha was unloading a bag of tacky ornaments. Pepper, Maria, and a blond girl Bucky hadn’t met (but could have sworn he’d seen at the laundry mat) blew in and joined Natasha at Clint’s full sized tree. Bucky gave the blue spruce a once over and decided the thin, pine needle shedding cedar he and Steve bought from a gas station parking lot was better, because they had more lights. 

The ladies hugged and chatted and slapped Tony and Rhody’s hands away when they tried to steal candy canes. No boy’s allowed. And yet, somehow Clint (who Bucky had yet to see leave his perch on the counter) was sucking on a red and white striped candy held casually between his teeth. Huh. 

Last to arrive were Sam and Riley, who Bucky hadn’t seen since the hospital. Riley walked in using Sam for support and claimed a chair by the fire. He looked a little windblown, eyes tired, but was joking around with Rhody and Darcy before long.

Once everyone had a mug in hand and ate an excess of the bizarre assortment of desserts – Natasha’s Russian teacakes, Pepper’s Peanut Butter Kisses, Sam’s gingerbread, Steve and Bucky’s misshapen sugar cookies and the impressive heap of store bought candy Jane and Darcy deposited on the table – they headed over to the fire and began the somewhat dangerous process of Secret Santa. 

Maria and her friend, Sharron, had been last minutes on their RSVP, but everyone else traded names last week. They started at the edge of the circle and worked around, which meant Bucky was up first and Steve was last. Bucky nervously watched when Darcy, who had been winking at him all night, stood first. Steve and Bucky were making no attempts to be subtle about their relationship, but she was undeterred in her cheeky flirting. Bucky couldn’t imagine she missed Steve kissing him on the cheek earlier. Natasha had wolf whistled; Bucky turned bright red and shuffled off to hide in the corner with Sam and Bruce. No way Darcy missed that. 

When she sauntered over with a big grin on her face and tinsel in her hair, Bucky did his best not to show fear. 

“Nothing weird, promise” she said, dropping a bag in his lap before scampering back to her seat. Conscious of the eyes on him, Bucky dumped out about a pound of tissue paper before getting to his gift. Wasn’t anything bad after all. A couple of hats, gloves, a scarf, and a flannel thing that wrapped around the lower half of his face. “You always look so cold!” Darcy said.

They moved on to Riley, who was delighted with the arrow Clint handed over. Bucky looked to Steve, who pointed back at Riley. 

“Clint only ever gives arrows,” Riley said, “However…” Picking at the feathered end, Riley rolled off a rubber band. A few hundred-dollar bills unfurled from the shaft. “Jackpot!” Riley said, waving the money in Sam’s face.

“That is food money,” Sam said, confiscating the bills and stuffing them in his shirt pocket. Riley let out an ‘Awww’ and Sam gave them back. “Fine. But you don’t get to complain about ramen anymore.”

Bucky was a little twitchy handing over Sam’s gift, afraid he wouldn’t get it. Sam tore off the ribbon, stopping only to stick the red bow in Riley’s hair. He ripped open the gift card envelope and laughed. 

“IHOP?” Pepper asked, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. 

“Breakfast food fixes everything,” Sam replied. “Thanks man” Sam said, nodding to Bucky. Bucky nodded back, pleased and relieved. 

Next, Bruce handed a small brown box over to Pepper with some twisty jewelry inside. “Found that when I was in India last year” Bruce said, dipping his head. 

“It’s beautiful,” Pepper said, cinching the bright beads around her neck. “Very thoughtful.” 

“I’m thoughtful” Tony piped up. Pepper gave him and look, snagged a Hershey’s kiss off Natasha’s plate and threw it at him. The silver foil bounced off Tony’s face before he caught it; he stopped talking, indignant. 

“Thank you Bruce” Pepper said sweetly as Tony shoved the chocolate in his mouth, momentarily distracted. 

Natasha was next, hauling her present away from the tree and kicking the lid off the crate Tony and Rhody had brought in. To Bucky’s immense surprise, there were no guns. Tony used the oversized box because he was, as Bucky had heard Rhody say on numerous occasions, a drama queen. Natasha pulled out a utility belt armed with some wicked looking knives, pepper spray and a tazer. She gave the black belt a smirk of approval and buckled it around her dress to the group’s applause. 

Following Nat, Sam threw a lumpy package at Clint, which he tore into. Lifting a t-shirt from the wreckage of Santa Clause themed wrapping paper, Clint and Sam were laughing too hard to explain the significance of ‘CAW CAW MUTHERFUCKER’ printed in bold on the front of the shirt, black angular wings spread out across the back. 

They moved to Jane and Darcy while Clint and Sam pulled themselves together. Steve walked his present to Jane, who was delighted with the kids 1940s chemistry set. 

“I found it at the Antique Mall when I was buying records” Steve said, grinning. 

“This is great,” Jane said, lifting the lid and holding up a test tube. “Now all I need is a lab coat!” 

Darcy was squirming in anticipation when Pepper brought over a sleek metal container. “Pleasepleaseplease,” Darcy whispered and squealed when she unhitched the case. “So pretty” Darcy gushed, turning the case to reveal a small caliber handgun with floral print up the ivory handle. 

“You said no guns!” Tony protested, waving a hand at Pepper. 

“I said no semiautomatics” Pepper corrected.

“Killjoy” Riley interjected, pointing his arrow at Pepper. 

“That’s what I said.” Rhody muttered. Steve, Sam and Bucky laughed, the girls rolled their eyes – sans Natasha who was pursing her lips at Pepper. 

When they got it back under control – sort of – they skipped over Maria and Sharron and landed on Bruce. Natasha hopped up and tossed a long, tube shaped object at him. For half a second, Bucky thought Natasha had actually tied a bunch of green sparkly ribbon around a rocket launcher, but his fears were unwarranted. Bruce was thoroughly content with the new purple yoga mat.

Next was Tony. Glaring at Riley for trying to get Tony’s gift across the room on his own, Sam deposited a box of doughnuts on the table next to Tony. Bucky had, for the most part, given up on trying to decipher what any of this meant. Everyone seemed happy – Tony was stuffing a ring of fired dough covered with rainbow sprinkles in his face – who was Bucky to ask why?

Down to Rhody and Steve. Jane dragged her present across the wooden floor and stopped, clasping her hands behind her back. “This is sort of a joint present, from me and Thor. For anybody you know who needs it.” she said, “Sort of an apology for the damage last month.” she finished. 

Rhody thanked her and chuckled appreciatively as he hauled out piece after piece of body armor, all tagged with the WARMACHINE trademark.

“They should fit under clothes” Jane said brightly, “So if anything comes up again…” 

“We’ll be ready,” Rhody smiled, “Boy am I glad you’re on our side.” That kicked up a few giggles. Bucky downed the rest of his peppermint hot chocolate, not sure how to react. It was weird how the politics of it all – and by politics, he meant Steve – brought this many people together. Bucky wondered if this happened in any other part of the city. Probably not. 

Only Steve remained. Rhody pulled out a shiny new aluminum bat from behind his chair to the general amusement of the group. Steve’s old red and blue bat had been found in two splintered pieces during the street clean up, his current replacement was a rusty length of pipe he found in the back lot. This was much better, Bucky thought. The shop felt empty without the bat. 

“Figured I’d leave the paint job to you” Rhody said. 

“No problem,” Steve said, giving the bat an experimental twirl, “This is great”

-

The group broke up following the gift exchange. Steve and Bucky headed up the apartment stairs around midnight, Steve swinging his bat, Bucky bundled up in his assortment of winter gear. Bucky hadn’t known what to expect from the night, especially regarding presents. Gloves and a scarf were not high on his list. Not that he didn’t like the gift – warm clothes were the best – he just hadn’t figured on anything thoughtful. It felt good, having somebody care enough to get him clothes. He’d have to do something nice for Darcy, maybe buy her a drink now that he and Steve were a thing. 

“Have a good night Buck?” Steve asked. Bucky paused by the kitchen table, unwinding his red scarf. 

“Yeah. I think so.” 

“Good.” Steve said, propping his bat against the counter and shimmying out of his coat. Snow wasn’t falling as aggressively as before, but the temp was well below freezing – walking home from the café numbed Bucky’s nose. 

Steve was in the living room, crawling around under the tree to get the string lights plugged in. “We leaving cookies out for the big man?” Steve called, voice muffled by a curtain of pine needles. “Don’t want to get passed over for free stuff on a technicality.” 

“We don’t have a chimney,” Bucky pointed out, “But why risk it?” he clarified at Steve’s outraged squawk. 

Bucky glanced around for their plate of remaining sugar cookies. At the coffee shop, their friends were polite enough to eat a few, but picked carefully around the burnt ones. Bucky didn’t blame them, and yet he didn’t think Mr. Clause would mind. But the plate wasn’t there. 

“Hey – I think we left the cookies at Clint’s” Bucky shouted, grabbing his coat. “Just a minute Stevie. I’ll be right back!” Bucky charged down the stairs, hit the door and swung it in. Moving at high speeds, Bucky ran headlong into a man standing at their door. 

“Hey–” Bucky started, catching himself on the wall. Eye’s poorly adjusted to the dark, Bucky could barely see the outline of a tall black van idling in their lot. “What–” 

The man by the door yelled “Over here!” and took a step closer to Bucky, who was backed up to the brick wall. This was bad. Life threatening kind of bad. Bucky decided hurriedly now was the time to make a break for it – before reinforcements arrived. Feigning left, Bucky took off to the right. Shit. Steve was probably in danger too. He needed to get to the café, they couldn’t have all left – 

A hand caught Bucky’s shoulder before he could get sprinting, the other arm wrapped around his neck. A damp rag of something sweet and earthy smelling was smacked over Bucky’s nose and mouth. With his track record, Bucky knew what chloroform smelled like. 

Dropping to his knees, Bucky clawed at the hand over his mouth. The guy slipped on the ice, nearly landing on top of him as Bucky squirmed out of his grip. Bucky’s side was ripping at his lungs with every gulp of air. At three weeks, his ribs were only halfway healed. 

Stumbling, Bucky pushed up and ran. He took four jarring steps towards the end of the alleyway when he was tackled, both men sprawling on the frozen asphalt. Bucky rolled over, couldn’t catch his breath in time. Two men grabbed an arm apiece and dragged him back to the lot, throwing Bucky in the van. Hitting the floor, Bucky lashed out with his legs, kicking a kidnapper in the chest. The guy crawling into the back of the vehicle with him glared and made a grab to zip-tie Bucky’s hands together.

There was a shout from upstairs in their apartment. Bucky couldn’t tell if it was Steve or not, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe this was happening. Hell no, Bucky thought forcefully, twisting painfully to sit up, yanking his hands from the other man’s grip. Not when things were finally working out.

Shoving a hand in his closest attacker’s face, Bucky clenched his teeth and kicked wildly when another man came over, clipped him the jaw and managing to inch closer to the door. 

His resistance in the back of the van caught another’s attention. Bucky wasn’t facing out anymore, couldn’t see the man marching over. Half a second later, the butt of a Glock 9 was slammed into the back of Bucky’s head and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the shitstorm of epic proportions begins. From here on out, the last however-many chapters are happening in the span of a week. (except for the epilogue of course). 
> 
> Friendly reminder, two chapters to be posted on Wednesday, so careful not to miss one AND PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (sorry for shouting) read the notes for chapter 14. Got a few warnings/heads up to make sure people want to read that kind of chapter. 
> 
> And my gratitude for everyone and anyone reading this is undying and everlasting.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ PLEASE
> 
> um, hi. So for this chapter, violence! . I don't like to use archive warnings, (so impersonal) but yah, this is my dark and twisty chapter. This chapter is straight up torturing of Bucky. 
> 
> I posted two chapters today, so please, read ahead to 15 (it is entirely possible to skip this chapter and not miss any plot points)

Bucky screamed. Or at least, he would have, if a leather strap hadn’t been forced between his teeth. What came out instead was something below guttural. There was a flash of light, pressure, half-second delay and the smell of burnt flesh kicked up again. Bucky screamed. Tried to at least.

Red-hot metal, branded up and down his arm was all that was left. The harsh straps digging into his wrists and ankles were gone, the questions from earlier – meaningless, lost. He had a few desperate promises written in his throat, and that was all. The fire grate creaked open, sending a whirl of smoke and sparks up in the damp. 

In the moments between screaming and charred flesh, there was a dimly lit ceiling. Low slung, concrete. When the iron pulled back, when his throat-tearing shouts gave way to heaving sobs – there was the ceiling. Unremarkable, with a few cracks. Waiting. 

Bucky screamed.

-

There wasn’t anything but the dim light. No windows or doors opening and closing. Time had stopped; he was trapped in limbo. Because every breath was an eternity but no time passed. Not ever. 

They finished with his left arm, moved to his chest. Nothing so graceless as pounding on his easily broken ribs, no. There was thin clamp, chill against his hot, sweat stained skin, cranked tighter and tighter between questions. 

“Where is Rogers keeping it?”

“Please…don’t” Bucky wasn’t above begging, wasn’t above anything. He couldn’t think beyond his arm, his arm was throbbing and bloated; or think beyond his jaw, from how hard he was clenching his teeth; or his throat, ragged and raw, his voice was nearly gone–

Bucky screamed. The clamp had clicked from one locking pin to another, compressing a previously healing rib. The pressure was constant, restricting breathing, pinching on the puckered skin of the bullet would, where muscle tissue was gradually weaving back together. Not for long. 

“Where is the money?”

“What money?” Bucky whimpered. He didn’t know what they were talking about, had no fucking clue. Every degree of pain was colored with uncertainty, confused hysteria. What were they talking about? How could he tell them what he didn’t understand?

“The MONEY”

Another click, Bucky screamed. There was no sensation in his hands, no feeling below his chest and only his left arm remained, matching beat for beat the pulsing of his compressed ribs. Each heartbeat was a pound of burning pressure, building up beneath his skin, each faster than the last. 

“I don’t know” Bucky rasped, blindly staring at the cool cement ceiling. Dim light. “I don’t know what you’re–”

Bucky resulting scream was cut off when a different snap followed the gears catching. The contraption digging into his chest, secured to the metal slab wasn’t responsible for the second noise. The additional crack was his weakest lower rib on the left side, crunch audible. They’d taken everything but the reflex to gulp air, wheezing lungful’s that cut through him, there wasn’t anything for it – he couldn’t even scream – 

Bucky blacked out, woke up to a bucket of ice water crashing over his face. Bucky choked, blinked water out of his eyes. The steel jaw trapping him on the table was looser, but had moved. Despite the hopeless disorientation, it didn’t take Bucky much time to understand the change. 

As the night (was it night? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell) wore on, they worked up his ribcage, snapping bones intentionally, individually. When Bucky stopped protesting or pleading or trying to figure out what they meant, torture was put on hold. Silence, it would appear, was no good. They left. 

Alone, Bucky lay limp, studying the ceiling. The dim light was there, running over the thin, wandering path of the crack. The fire in the corner was out of his sight, had died, but the stench of wet smoke remained. 

Bucky’s mind roved from pain to hurt to Steve to pain. His arm was melting. Shallow breathing was difficult. Steve had better still open the gift Bucky got him. The cuffs were so tight his feet were asleep. 

What was it? What were his last words to Steve?

“Just a minute Stevie,” Bucky croaked, upsetting the flat, dead air in the room. “I’ll be right back.”

-

Bucky coughed, body heaving, aching, protesting his treatment. They pulled him off the table – his table, where he’d been approximately his entire life – and dragged him along the floor. Bucky would have protested if the hands hauling him weren’t wrapped around blistered, rupturing burns. He landed forcefully in a chair, wheezing in his new posture. Any adjustment sent a mess of unexplored destruction tearing across his chest, broken splinters pinching, pain blinding. 

The hands returned, yanking his shoulders back, sitting him up. Bucky watched in the near dark while someone zip tied his wrists and ankles to the creaking chair. Because restraints were necessary. Right.

A door opened; a real, actual door, and more people came in. More faces to forget. The light from their room spilled in, cutting at the smooth dark Bucky accepted as a constant. He turned away, eyes shut, but his movements (like all his movements) were for naught. 

The overhead light came on with a crackle. Bucky flinched; felt the bright white hit him like a wall. Too much. Separate from the light, the thin bands of hard plastic dug against the marks left by the other cuffs, making his ankles bleed. Blood was dripping down, filling a sock. Burns on his arms were oozing something foul, trickling along his skin. Just a minute Stevie, Bucky promised. I’ll be right back. He couldn’t feel his fingers at all. 

Men were talking. 

“What about his face?”

“What about it?”

“We want them desperate to get him back. He doesn’t look injured.”

“Mr. Peirce, I cannot suggest any further–”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“No sir, of course not.”

“Where’s Rumlow? I need this done properly. Call me what it’s finished”

The door opened, closed. Opened, closed. This time, one of the men approached. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Barnes.” Bucky didn’t look up, didn’t respond to his old dealer, because there was nothing to say and focusing on one thing in and of itself was elusive. “Heard you been playing house with the snitch.”

Bucky’s mind wandered. He couldn’t decide what hurt more, breathing in or breathing out. “Shame you won’t just tell us where the money is. Then your precious little boyfriend wouldn’t have to get caught up in this too.” Boyfriend? Oh right, Steve. Just a minute Stevie, Bucky thought hazily. I’ll be right back. 

Rumlow’s fist caught Bucky’s jaw, sent the chair wobbling precariously on two legs. Darkness came and left, for one sharp second everything was reduced to the impact of Rumlow’s clenched fingers and a sore jaw. 

Then it all came rushing back, to be interrupted by a shot to the mouth, the nose. Bucky tasted blood, was breathing in blood, choking on the salty copper flood warming his mouth, dribbling out of his nose. 

“All finished!” Men talking, hovering around in his peripheral as Bucky’s head dropped to his chest. His hair was in his eyes; he stared at the collection of raindrops pattering on his favorite green sweater, on his lap. 

Except there wasn’t rain inside, so the perfect dark droplets were probably blood. There was blood in his mouth too, Bucky lurched to the side and spat out a gob on the bare, industrial floor. The bright red saliva hit with a sick splat. 

“Hey! – Get him to look at the camera.”

Someone grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s hair, they jerked his head up to face a video camera. Bucky stared vacantly at the glassy grey eye, blinking red dot.

“As you can see, Mr. Barnes is alive,” 

Bucky squinted, neck lolling, head held firmly by a mean grip. His face was a mash of pressure, blood crusting and drying in uncomfortable swaths across his skin. His chest was clawing at him for every gasp, paired with the throbbing of his nose and mouth as he panted. Just a minute Stevie, Bucky remembered, sinking deeply and holding tight to those words. I’ll be right back. 

“These are our terms,” The man talking had stopped; strolled over to Bucky seat, put his hand right above the junction of Bucky’s left shoulder and back. His fingers hovered above a large crosshatch burn, the puffy inflamed skin ruddy in the harsh light. “If you should choose to dismiss our offer…” The hand came down, vice-like. 

Bucky screamed. 

-

Back on the metal slab. Bucky studied the crack on the ceiling in the dim light. He’d been left alone, and aside from the beating in the chair, left untouched. His chest hurt. His arm hurt. His face was a mess, but he guessed he’d had worse. Wasn’t a concussion at least. He remembered that. The couch. Breakfast. Steve. 

Some of Bucky’s horror was dulled without an immediate threat; Bucky gave his shackles a weak tug. They clanked against the slab, had no give. He said just a minute. He really meant it. Tears pooled, slid along the side of Bucky’s face, running along his temple. He wanted to go home. “I’ll be right back,” Bucky whispered to the empty room, voice wrecked. 

But the room wasn’t empty. 

“Mr. Barnes,” the voice wasn’t recognizable, not right away “I am Doctor Zola.” A pair of reflective, oval glasses flashed above Bucky. Something clenched in Bucky’s gut. Zola had been there during the questions, making odd adjustments while others interrogated. Every other burn or snap was accompanied by a flash of his lenses. 

“No,” Bucky whimpered, barely coherent “Don’t…”

“I am afraid you do not have a say in the matter.” Bucky’s heart lodged in his throat. “Your pain is assuring Roger’s cooperation.” Zola pointed over at a dim light mounted on a tripod. “See? Try to think of yourself as a…what is the word…?” Zola paused, tilted his head to the side “An incentive.” He pulled away, returned holding something silver and gleaming. “Should we continue with your shoulder?”

Zola hunched over, picking at the torn, burned material of what used to be Bucky’s favourite sweater. Bucky couldn’t breathe – he couldn’t. Anticipation was half as horrible, every sense heightened, waiting. Lifting patches of ripped cloth, Zola uncovered the maze of burns, unidentifiable patterns marring Bucky’s skin. “Yes, this will do nicely.” 

Zola dragged a metal chair over, sat down and bent close. Bucky was trembling, he knew it would hurt, but he couldn’t know how much, there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. A sliver of thin, cool metal rested against his skin. Zola began pressing the razor edge without great force, deliberately slow. Without warning, he carved out a chunk of flesh with a short flick of his wrist. 

Bucky screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and I really am sorry-not-sorry for hurting Bucky. but hey, you were warned. I only post here.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi
> 
> Just checking in. If you intentionally skipped 14, that's cool. If you missed the whole 'two-chapters-at-once' thing then I have good news.

As his time with Zola wound on, Bucky was afraid he wouldn’t have anything to hold on to, beyond fragments here and there. The memories he clutched at were on a loop in his mind, a broken record of moments he could haphazardly string together when Zola left to change instruments. 

Steve carrying a box. The way the register’s keys got stuck. Trying to get Sam’s truck to defrost. Banging on Tony’s back door. Loud music at the bar. Scrambled eggs. Pedaling in the cold dark. I just bought that bike. White walls. Making dinner. I want you to stay. Untangling Christmas lights. Just a minute Stevie. I’ll be right back. 

It was like his life, or at least everything worth remembering, everything he was fighting to hold onto, started when he wandered into Vintage Records. Bucky was desperate to keep that truth, if nothing else. That he had something real, for a little while. That he wasn’t broken. 

-

When an explosion rocked the building, Bucky kinda figured he was hallucinating. Zola left some indeterminate time ago; Bucky was alone with his dim light and crack in the ceiling. Zola had been poised to inject something into Bucky’s arm – above the acid stains on his right wrist, below the horizontal scratches Zola repeatedly doused with salt – when there was a shout and Zola was called off. 

Bucky didn’t know what to do with himself. His throat was raw, but he’d been whispering ‘Just a minute Stevie, I’ll be right back’ for so long now, he didn’t think he could stop. His mouth was moving independently of his brain. 

There was another thunderous boom; the echo reverberated around the room. In the dim light, Bucky saw dust fall from the crack. Was that real? Bucky’s heart thumped irregularly, stretching his chest. Something was happening, sort of, maybe. The crack above slipped out of focus, his heart rate slowed a bit. That was too much to think about. Too confusing. “Just a minute, Stevie,” Bucky said, closing his eyes for a second “I’ll be right back.”

“Bucky?” It was strange, hearing Steve sound that fearful. Steve was usually the calm one. “Oh my god. Bucky? Can you– please–”

Bucky opened his eyes. There was Steve, bulky jacket, hair sticking up with snow in it. Some of the snow was melting, dripping along dark stands stuck to his head. This was okay, Bucky figured, eyes vacant. It couldn’t be real, but he smiled anyways. “Just a minute Stevie,” Bucky said, because that was all there was to say, “I’ll be right back.”

“Jesus Buck” Steve said, and suddenly – when Steve started tugging at the straps digging in to Bucky’s wrists – suddenly everything was real. Because that hurt. And pain, pain was tangible. 

“S-St-Steve?” Bucky was still having a hard time believing.

“I’m right here Buck” Steve said, working on the restraints on his ankles “Gonna get you outta here.”

The straps gave way; Bucky let Steve guide him carefully off the metal slab. Standing, Bucky was completely supported by Steve; the head rush was dizzying, overwhelming. Then Steve was tugging him forward and Bucky followed automatically, unsteady pins and needles jittering up and down his legs. 

Past the dim light, around a corner, out a door that led to a bright, industrial hall. Bucky winced, leaning heavily on Steve. “Where – Where are we?” Bucky asked. He needed something, anything to distract from the clash of mismatching pain. Every step was a new sensation; bumping his searing ribs against Steve, the holes in his sweater chafing along the burns, a scratch on his arm opened up and blood was trickling down his underarm. 

“Warehouse” Steve said shortly, dragging Bucky along hastily, not bothering to stop and scan around corners “Behind the chemical plant on Schmidt Ave.” 

“Huh” Bucky said, shifting some of his weight off Steve. With what little feeling was returning, Bucky could mostly walk. Waving Steve off and staggering along by himself gave Steve room to pull a gun from the waistband of his cargo pants. 

“We made an entrance in the loading docks,” Steve said, watching Bucky as they passed another corridor of ugly tan walls and cheap office doors. “That’s our way out. The exits bottleneck into that room, the rest of the team is distracting them there.” 

Steve reached another corner and immediately backtracked. Gunfire rained down the hall, sending both of them scrambling back to the last turn. Bucky stared across the hallway at Steve. The four feet between them was impassible with bullets peppering the gap. Fuck. Bucky’s chest was heaving, messy breathing giving his position away. Without looking Steve reached his hand around the corner and fired off a few rounds. 

The footsteps retreated; more smoking holes were blown in the wall past their hiding place. There was a string of buzzing clicks, and a thump. Steve and Bucky simultaneously poked their heads around the wall in time to see Natasha on the floor, tazing a skinny bald guy in the neck. She was wearing all black, had a sleek 9mm in her free hand, and other assorted weapons clipped on her utility belt. _Christmas present_ Bucky’s brain supplied unhelpfully. 

“Thought you were hanging back” Steve said, running up to her. 

“You were taking too long,” Natasha said, standing with her usual grace. “Got bored.” She ran her eyes over Bucky, who was leaning on the wall for support. Her face softened for half a second, and the look was gone. 

“Can you shoot?” she asked. 

Yep. That was Natasha. “Um” Bucky said. His left arm was hanging uselessly, right clutching his side. “Not shure,” he slurred, “Probly not.” 

“We need to go” Steve cut in. “Buck, just stay close, okay?” 

Bucky nodded. As if he was ever going to let Steve out of his sight. He tried to keep up as Steve and Natasha jogged down the hall. 

“How’s our exit?” Steve asked. 

“About that,” Natasha said. To the left, a door banged open. Two men came out, realized they weren’t alone too late. Steve and Natasha dropped them with three shots, gunfire splitting through the enclosed space. Bucky’s ears rang as the echo faded. 

“Didn’t know you could shoot” Bucky mumbled, staring at Steve. 

“He can’t” Natasha interrupted, “You aim high” she told Steve, scolding. 

“Natasha” Steve was equal parts exasperated and on edge. “What about our exit?” 

“There’s a door we didn’t have on the maps.” She said, remarkably unconcerned “They have more men, but are running out of ammo.”

“I thought we were running out of ammo,” Steve said, as they pulled up in front of a plain wooden door. Bucky looked around at the identical hallways, unsure. He wanted out, but felt just as trapped as before. The walls were fuzzy, his side ached, arms burned; Bucky wasn’t confident in how long his legs were going to hold out. 

“Buck” Steve was back at his side, holding the gun in front of him with both hands “This is the loading zone. There’s a bunch of crates and equipment for cover, and the Humvee’s parked outside the hole we blasted, you can’t miss it. Stay close.” 

“Right” Bucky breathed. Shit. The door wasn’t even open and he was psyching himself out. On the other side, Bucky could hear a few sporadic pops of gunfire, Natasha was right about the limited ammunition. For a group known for their pray-and-spray approach, Bucky was surprised the HYDRA base wasn’t more prepared. 

“On three” Steve said, hand on the doorknob. Bucky swallowed. Fuck. “One” God, as long as he didn’t trip or anything, maybe he could get out. “Two” Natasha was crouched behind him, coiled tight. Bucky was flooded with the realization he might get shot. He really, really didn’t want that to happen. “Three”

Steve slammed the door open, ran out into the warehouse yawning in front of them. The roof was easily three stories overhead, bare bone scaffolding and corrugated sheet metal towered on each side. The only light came from windows set high, evening sun spilling in. 

Crates were stacked and thrown across the space, a few towers tipped over by crashed forklifts. Smoke rose, blurring shadows; the acrid smell of burnt plastic was thick in the air. Bucky took all of it in, frozen. 

Sidestepping around him, Natasha grabbed the front of his tattered sweater and dragged him along, practically throwing Bucky at the stack of pallets Steve was crouched behind. 

“James.” She said forcefully. There was a bang behind them, flash of muzzle flare. This time, Bucky got his feet under him and staggered after Steve, falling next to him on the other side of a rusted forklift. Natasha hadn’t followed, she was wrestling with the man who snuck up on them. He’d thrown his empty gun away and caught her arm. Bucky watched in confusion as the guy fell when Natasha wrenched back, out of reach. Then Bucky recognized what had to be an arrow embedded in the man’s throat. 

“Over here!” the shout was accompanied by a short burst of gunfire, but not at them. Bucky didn’t recognize the voice, couldn’t tell if it was friendly or a HYDRA member with very poor aim, but Steve seemed to have an idea. Grabbing Bucky’s hand, Steve weaved around a few more crates, hunched over, staying low. Bucky was having a hard time bending with his ribs, breathing shallow. 

“It’s us,” Steve said, not too loud, as they looped around another obstacle. Bucky crashed down on the other side, shoved his back up against another splintered crate. 

“Wonderful” Tony was crouched next to where Bucky had landed, clutching a high caliber weapon. Around them, a collection of other guns had been abandoned, clips empty, casings littering the concrete. Tony gave Bucky a once over as Steve inched around them, scanning the gaps for any signs of life. “Got what we came for then” Tony said, smirking nervously, face pale. Bucky zeroed in on Tony’s torn off shirtsleeve, material wound around his upper arm. 

“You good?” Steve asked, glancing at Tony.

“Peachy,” Tony said with an exaggerated shrug. He waved his gun vaguely in the direction of the exit “After you”

Bucky was suddenly preoccupied by the lack of Natasha. “Wait – where’s–” Bucky had to stop, trying to speak around his gasping “Natasha?” 

“Getting Sam” Steve said “And Clint should have eyes on Rhody”

Bucky nodded. The radio clipped to Steve’s belt crackled, two short bursts of static. “That’s it” Steve said, mashing the buttons to send two burst back. “Let’s go” 

Tony led the way this time, popping his head up periodically. They covered half the distance to the exit before encountering any more resistance. As it was, the HYDRA members weren’t close, standing across the way and taking pot shots as Sam and Rhody sprinted for cover. Rhody stumbled, landed on his hands and rolled. Bucky heard the empty click of Tony’s gun, then Steve’s. No more bullets. 

With an ominous creaking, one of the massive crates stacked high tipped. It fell a solid 25 feet, hit with a sickening thud where the two HYDRA members had been scrambling to get out of the way. Bucky caught a glimpse of Bruce Banner climbing down the scaffolding from above the flattened assailants. Holy shit. 

Steve seized Bucky’s hand, tugging him past a smoking semi-truck and a pair of bleeding corpses Bucky was frantically relieved he didn’t recognize. 

At some point, Clint appeared ahead of them, dropping down from overhead and immediately hitting his knees. He had a sleek, complicated looking crossbow strapped to his back, expression strained. Tony helped pull Clint up to standing. 

“Some asshole hit me with buckshot” Clint grumbled, glaring at the blood soaking his lower pant leg. Reaching a wall, the group paused while Tony got a better grip on Clint, looping his uninjured arm under Clint’s shoulders.

“Sam, Nat and Rhody made it out. Last I saw, Bruce was close to the exit.” Clint said, hopping as they followed the wall. “They’re running out of bad guys,” Clint continued, “I counted four, none of them interested taking on the Humvee. The exit is mostly clear.” 

“Great,” Steve breathed as they inched along “Just us then” Their progress was slowed by Clint – Bucky couldn’t help but be thankful. He was running out of steam, fast. Around them, silence was falling, threatening. No more shouting, shooting, or the slap of boots on concrete. Aside from his panting, the air was lifeless. 

Bucky hadn’t liked being shot at. Somehow this was worse. At least with guns firing, there was a clear direction not to run. In the quiet, any direction might be wrong. 

“Here” Tony said, pulling up short. Bucky stumbled, caught a crate for support, making it groan. Peering around the edge of the stack, Bucky saw where the sheet metal wall had been bent in and blown apart, shifting of shadows right outside. 

“Once we get going, we’ll have cover,” Steve said, voice low “If we can–” From far behind them, doors were bashed open, yelling started. Reinforcements. “Nevermind – GO” Steve said, grabbing Clint’s other arm to help Tony drag him towards the exit. Bucky was right on their heels, clutching his side and choking on air. This was it– if they could just–

Gunfire exploded around them, bullets riddling the metal. Bucky could see the Humvee parked outside in the grey lot, hear the engine, they were so close– come on–

It happened five feet from the exit. The crack of a shot, too close. Steve jerked and fell forward, collapsing without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Um. So. That happened. 
> 
> Please don't hate me. And trust the tags/warnings. I'm not here to emotionally scar anyone (permanently). This whole thing has a happy ending. Eventually. 
> 
> My wildest dreaming could not foresee the number of comments and hits and kudos on this multi-chapter experiment. You're all wonderful and don't deserve the kind of horror I am writing at you. Thanks again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Now to make up for some of the horribleness with an extra long chapter.

_STEVE_ Bucky’s mind screamed, he didn’t have the air to shout out loud. Tony staggered under Clint’s weight but kept going, narrowly making it around the corner. 

Hitting the concrete, Bucky grabbed at Steve, getting his hands under Steve’s arms and dragging him towards the exit. Bucky stumbled, ribs slashing him apart from the inside out, arms shaking so badly he could barely hold on, but he had to, he had to–

Somebody wrapped an arm around Bucky’s torso, hauled him out of the warehouse and off his feet. Bucky wasn’t letting go, brought Steve down with him. 

“Bucky, MOVE” Sam was behind him, got Bucky up with Natasha’s aid. They hoisted Bucky and Steve into the Humvee and crammed in after them. “Go!” Sam yelled and the vehicle took off, knocking everyone back. 

Bucky shoved away from the mash of people, frantic. “Steve?” Bucky gasped – he couldn't– after everything– “Steve?” Steve was crumpled on the floor; Bruce rolled him over, and propped Steve's limp body back against the door. “Steve – please”

Bucky tried to get closer but Natasha was in front of him. “James, wait” 

But Bucky couldn’t wait. He made a pathetic attempt to push her off, she continued to block his way, he couldn’t see Steve. “Please” Bucky whimpered. Tears were dripping down his face, stinging over open cuts on his cheek. From behind her, coughing. 

“Ow”

“He’s okay” Bruce said, calm. Bucky’s head was spinning, he didn’t understand– he couldn’t– Natasha shifted, moving back to Clint. Bucky crawled around Sam, stopping in front of Steve, who was wincing and sitting up. 

“Okay. Getting shot hurts,” Steve said, grimacing “What the hell Rhody?”

“Kevlar does not make you invincible” Rhody said from the front said, peeling out onto the main road. 

“You got that right” Tony grumbled from the passenger seat. A series of cop cars screamed by the windows, streaking blurs. 

Bucky wasn’t really listening. “Steve?”

Steve blinked, saw Bucky in front of him. “Hey Buck” Steve said softly. Bruce backed off, leaning over to check on Sam. Clint and Natasha were in the other corner, she was facing away and cutting off Clint’s pant leg with a knife. 

“Steve–” Bucky’s voice cracked. “I thought–”

“Bucky,” Steve said, immediately leaning closer, reaching out. Bucky flinched. Too many hands had been on him since he was taken, too many movements paired with pain. Steve pulled back, eyes wide. “Sorry” Steve said, voice small. 

Bucky couldn’t think straight. His body was screaming, the expression on Steve’s face was making him heartsick. Bucky choked on a sob. God, he fucked up. He didn't mean to. 

“Thought you – thought you died” Bucky stuttered. 

Steve shook his head, made another short move and thought better of it. “You’re safe now Buck. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I wouldn’t.” 

The car hit a bump, Bucky cringed, felt sick. He needed to get out of this small, enclosed space. There were too many bodies crowded around, the tinted windows only let in a dim light. 

“Bucky? Can I touch you?” Steve asked, catching Bucky’s attention, interrupting the evolving fear. Bucky wasn’t sure, didn’t know. He looked at Steve, eyes pleading and leaned toward him incrementally, holding back fresh tears. He didn’t know what to do. But it was Steve, and Steve was safe. 

Steve moved slowly as he brought his fingertips to rest on Bucky’s jaw; Bucky leaned into Steve’s hand, desperate for Steve’s touch to outlast the rest. It worked, a little. Bucky couldn’t contain a small whimper, failed miserably at not crying. 

“Bucky” Steve said, ghosting his fingers over Bucky’s bruised, swollen face “Come here.” He lightly tugged at the collar of Bucky’s sweater, mindful of the cuts and scrapes and burns. Bucky inched forward with limited success, made it a little ways and gradually slumped on Steve’s leg, face pressing on Steve’s thigh. Steve hesitated before gently placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, between two patches of raw, inflamed skin.

Resting on his right side relived some of the pressure from Bucky’s broken ribs. Bucky wanted to be okay, now that he was back with Steve, but he couldn’t help it. He was shaking apart, gripping Steve’s pants hard enough his fingers hurt. It was too much. He got away, Steve was okay; but Bucky could hardly feel anything, didn’t want to fall asleep and end up back on that table – it couldn’t – couldn’t all be in his head – 

“Bucky, hey. I’m right here,” Steve said, feeling Bucky’s breathing speed up, body shaking “We’re okay” 

And Steve might have been okay, but Bucky wasn’t. In the chaos of escaping – even when he was strapped to that damn table – things were happening, or at least the anticipation of things. Taken from that narrow reality, out of that room, no more crack in the concrete, no more dim light, Bucky wasn’t okay.

The back of the Humvee was no longer threat or comfort; Bucky couldn’t think of what he was supposed to do and that alone had him on the verge of hyperventilating. He was quickly running out of whatever had been holding him together. 

Steve’s voice faded in and out as the car ride wound on. Somebody tried to move him, but Bucky only curled up tighter, broken ribs be damned. There was absolutely no one but Steve he would willingly be near. Bucky wanted to be left alone, with Steve; any alternative was too risky and would probably hurt more.

-

Bucky had no recollection whatsoever of being moved. He was in the back of the Humvee, and then he was propped up by numerous pillows on Sam’s couch, Steve snoring next to him in the sunny living room. 

Bucky’s arm felt funny. Actually, both of his arms felt funny, stiff and heavy. So did his chest. Bucky tipped his head down to inspect what must have been 20 or 30 feet of gauze. 

He was wrapped up, taped up, and mostly likely on a high dose of something because he could hardly feel– he couldn’t feel– 

Bucky wheezed, gripping the armrest. He needed to feel something, needed up, felt trapped. Stumbling awkwardly, Bucky used the back of the couch for support. Okay. Legs were working. Good. Relief was dizzying, Bucky clung to the couch cushions. Over the back of the couch he could see Steve tucked in a ball. Steve was safe. Also good. 

Movement at the edge of the room caught Bucky’s eye, he started and almost fell. “James. It’s me. You’re at Sam’s house” Natasha moved in front of him, unhurried and deliberate. 

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

Bucky gave another weak wheeze, nodding. She moved in gently, none of her usual conservative actions. Sliding by his side, she guided Bucky’s least injured arm over her shoulders. “Lean on me” she commanded. Ah. There it was. True Natasha bedside manner. Bucky gave her a wary look. “Why are you up?” she asked. She wasn’t moving him, just supporting some of his weight. 

Bucky shook his head. “Couldn’t feel my legs,” he mumbled, leaning more on her. She didn’t question his logic. Bucky wondered briefly if she was humoring him or…something. Natasha didn’t take shit; maybe standing up wasn’t stupid or a mistake. 

“Kitchen” she said, after a pause. 

“What about Steve?’ Bucky said automatically. 

“He needs sleep” she said firmly “Hasn’t gotten any in the last 48 hours” 

“Oh” Bucky said, acquiescing. Guess that was okay. Sleep was important. 

They arrived in the kitchen, joining a small crowd and an impressive arsenal displayed on the kitchen table. Something was sizzling on the stove, which gave Bucky pause, but the smell was syrupy, not burnt. Natasha tried angling Bucky towards a chair, but he tensed up, locking his knees. The last chair was – it hurt – he didn’t – 

“Okay” Natasha said quietly in his ear, derailing his train of thought “How about the counter?” 

“Um, yeah” Bucky mumbled when she tipped him back so he could rest his hip on the drawers. To his immediate right, Riley glanced up from flipping pancakes. 

“Mornin’” Riley said. Bucky thought Riley looked pretty run down, but then again, so did everyone in the room. Sam was just past Riley, pushing a plate at Clint, who was seated on a barstool. Next to him, Rhody was dumping jam on his pancakes one handed, the other in a splint. At the table, Bruce had a sewing kit open, stitching Tony’s skin while the arm’s dealer tossed back a glass of amber liquid. Bucky didn’t like needles, quickly averted his eyes to Pepper, wearing a tank top that revealed her extensive tattoos, disassembling a rifle. She offered Bucky a smile when she caught him staring. 

Bucky suddenly noticed Natasha hadn’t left. She was there, supporting his side, playing her mind reading card. As if she knew exactly how much Bucky was relying on her; not just to hold him up – though that was definitely a factor. 

Somehow she’d picked up on the minute hysteria Bucky felt with so many people in the room. How the heat from the stovetop wasn’t okay, how Bruce’s intensity was as intimidating as Tony’s indifference. The disquieting scrape of Rhody’s fork on his plate, how Sam’s conversation with Clint was uncomfortably indistinguishable. Bucky didn’t want to be alone, but the kitchen would have been too much without Natasha’s support. 

A thought cropped up in Bucky’s mind that he couldn’t shake. “Uh, Nat?” Bucky said quietly, feeling idiotic and self-conscious “Um…why did...uh, was there a reason…” 

She figured out his question before he could stumble over more words. “HYDRA had new intelligence,” she said, speaking softly, not disturbing the concentration of the room. Pepper slid a clip in place with a harsh slap, nobody so much as twitched. “Fury hit one of their shipments and acquired a large sum of money. They won’t say how much” she paused. “Since HYDRA couldn’t track the money down by threatening Fury, they started looking for a new source. 

“That business earlier this month at the hospital was unrelated to HYRDA’s agenda, just a few members pissed about that bar fight” she said, face giving away nothing. Like she’d read about it in the paper instead of personally killing the guy. 

“Unfortunately, his death put you on their radar, made you a target. Before that, you were a nobody. But losing a member to someone like you sets off warnings. You aren’t part of Fury directly, but you most know something to be protected. They took you when they ran out of other ideas”

Bucky leaned more heavily on the counter, processing. HYDRA thought he ‘knew things’. “But I don’t” Bucky said blankly, “I mean” he stopped, tried and failed to ignore the dim light, crack in the ceiling. “Seems obvious” Bucky said, coming back to himself. 

“You wear Steve’s dog chains.” Natasha said, “They probably think you’re ex-military” Bucky’s head spun. It was true, Steve had given him one of the tags. Bucky had his own chain and everything, helped identify the two of them as friendlies to select groups. He’d never thought the first thing of it. 

“Shit.” Bucky said. That was ridiculous. 

“When they couldn’t make you talk, they offered you up as a hostage” Natasha said, “Refused to stop torturing you until the money was returned. We had a live feed.” She sounded grim, refused to meet Bucky’s eye. Bucky remembered the dim light, felt lightheaded. They saw – which meant Steve saw – 

“Now what?” Bucky asked, forcing the conversation in a new direction. Discomfort was gathering in the pit of his stomach. If HYDRA was still missing their money, this wasn’t over, not by a long shot. 

“We’re waiting on the police” Natasha said “Had them on call to raid the warehouse. Should slow HYDRA down while we come up with a plan. And Fury is patrolling the neighborhood. They owe us that much. I thought Steve was going to hit Nick with his bat.”

Bucky smiled faintly. “Would have liked to see that”

Natasha grunted, unimpressed. “We have enough problems. There isn’t much time. Unless the police have made any significant arrests.” She didn’t sound hopeful. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice carried from the other room. Natasha sighed. 

“He’s in here” she called levelly, then looked at Bucky. “I know this was hard on you James,” she said quietly “But you have to let him help you. This is never easy, but you need somebody right now. And Steve can handle it. Trust me.” 

Bucky had no idea where this was coming from, or why she was being…nice? Was this the Natasha version of nice? Bucky knew she had been involved in some serious shit – was she speaking from experience? Long before Bucky could unwind her comment, his bewilderment was cut short by Steve staggering into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. 

“Bucky” Steve said, visibly relaxing. He stepped closer and paused, biting his lip. “Can I…?” Bucky opened his mouth to say yes, of course, always, but before any of that came out, Steve’s phone rang. 

Steve sighed, tugging the phone out of his pocket, taking a step away. “Sorry, I should get this. I’ll be right back” Bucky’s heart clenched, the kitchen tipped. A desperate, rushed ‘No Steve don’t please’ was out of his mouth without thinking, that phrase had been carved into him; Just a minute – I’ll be right back – just a minute – Stevie – right back – 

“I’ll get it” Natasha said, trading places with Steve and taking the phone out of his hand. The height difference was a little jarring, but they got situated. 

“Hey Buck” Steve said, looking up, drinking him in. Bucky didn’t know what to say, his conversation with Natasha was more complicated than he bargained for. But Steve looked so hopeful and haunted Bucky had to try. 

“Hey” Bucky whispered “I…I missed you” And maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say; Steve’s eyes pinched, he skewed his mouth to the side. Natasha’s conversation on the phone was getting louder, headed back towards the kitchen. 

“Yeah Buck” Steve said, leaning a little of his weight on Bucky. Wasn’t enough to push, just a reminder. “Missed you too.” Natasha strolled in, clicked on speakerphone. 

“You should hear this,” she said, looking meaningfully around the room. ‘Police?’ Tony mouthed. Natasha shook her head, raised a hand ‘Higher’ she mouthed back. 

“Hello? Steve?” A woman’s voice, with an odd ring to it that Bucky couldn’t place. Everyone at the table stiffened, suddenly hostile. Bruce paused from his work; Clint set his fork down and frowned at the phone. 

“Hang up” Tony said, glaring daggers. 

“Hello to you too Stark” the woman said, voice tinny over the speakers “You can relax, I’m not calling in an official capacity. Phillips isn’t monitoring this line.” Bucky was taken aback. The last thing he expected was a clipped British accent.

“Oh bullshit” Tony muttered. “I swear, if I get arrested by this woman one more time…” he trailed off, glancing darkly at Steve. Pepper had her lips pressed in a thin line; Rhody stopped eating and was giving the phone a profoundly skeptical look. Finally Steve spoke up. 

“Agent Carter” 

“Rogers.” The formality was painful. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news.” Tony snorted, threw back another glass. Bucky’s skin prickled. The tense atmosphere was bizarre for a phone call, and it was growing worse. Even Natasha had her arms folded, a very, very dangerous sign. 

“What happened at the warehouse?” Steve asked. 

“The fire completely destroyed the building. We pulled a few computers, but there wasn’t much to salvage. Does the term ‘Project Insight’ mean anything to you?” 

“No.” Bucky felt Steve tense, but doubted anyone else noticed. Who was this woman? Why was she calling if nobody trusted her?

“What about the rest of you?” Agent Carter said, “I know you’re there.”

“Listen” Tony spoke up, all snark “You want answers, you called the wrong number. Your case fell through last year, if you forgot. I’m not against filing another harassment charge.”

“Peggy” Steve said, interrupting before anyone else could comment. “Thanks for the update. Goodbye” Steve said firmly. Peggy or Agent Carter or whatever didn’t bother with goodbye, the call ended with a click. 

“You could have said the queen was calling” Tony said sardonically. 

“How was I supposed to know?” Steve sounded peeved. “I didn’t call her.”

“Yeah, well, you’re ex-girlfriend is a pain in the ass” Tony shot back.

“We never – god, it was _one dance_ – shut up Tony” Steve said, closing his eyes. Bucky was sure he missed something. Ex-girlfriend? What?

“I don’t get her,” Sam said, picking up a plate “Didn’t she shoot you once?”

“She shot at me. For her cover” Steve said, exasperated “She didn’t actually hit me.”

“Oh yeah” Riley said, smiling “Carter had that massive group charge set up last year. Didn’t she arrest you? Like, twice?” Riley said, twisting to look at Tony. 

“Three times” Tony clarified. Pepper sighed. 

“She never got me,” Rhody said smugly “Or Bruce” 

“That’s because you,” Tony said, pointing a finger at Rhody “Where being deployed in a week and you,” Tony turned on Bruce “Ran off to India with some bullshit excuse about saving dying children” 

“Anyways” Steve said, over Tony’s growing resentment. “I think we know what Insight is now, if the feds are involved.” 

“What?” Bucky asked, tired of being out of the loop. He didn’t think he liked Peggy either, was ready to change the subject. 

“Natasha grabbed some papers at the warehouse,” Steve said, “They’re stamped with ‘Insight’ and have locations tagged. We’re thinking bomb threat.” 

“If they were willing to set the warehouse on fire, HYDRA has probably finished building the bombs and moved them to a secure location.” Clint said quietly. 

“And I have a pretty good idea where.” Tony said, prodding his smartphone. “The tracker we planted on that truck is going strong.” 

“Good” Steve said, “We can hit them tomorrow” 

“We?” Tony repeated, eyebrows flying up “Oh no. You have all the friends in the government. Call them.” 

“For what?” Steve spat. Bucky stared, surprised. Steve had skipped from casual explanation to pissed off in a heartbeat. “So they can make arrests? Let them get away? They have nothing on HYDRA. The case wouldn’t last a week. And besides” Steve said, disgusted “They couldn’t even find a warehouse.” Ice ran down Bucky’s spine. Small wonder Steve was mad. “HYDRA is everybody’s problem.” Steve continued “And we are going to wipe them off the map.” 

Tony considered this, glanced around the room at silent faces, turned back to Steve. “What the hell” Tony said with a shrug. “Why not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winding up for my epic-final-battle-thing. Thanks for coming along for the ride :)
> 
> (((and now I'm going to do something incredibly childish and ask if, well - do you think this is good/okay/tolerable? I mean, you're reading this voluntarily, so on some level no one is keeping you here at gunpoint. Hopefully. That would be weird.)))
> 
> ANYWAYS. Sorry for the self indulgent insecurity, I really, really do appreciate all of you. So thank you, and holy shit I can't believe this is all going to be over next week.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy. Lets get this crazy started.

“No” Steve said vehemently “For the last time Bucky, you are not coming.”

“Actually” Bucky said, standing in the middle of the room, watching Steve rifle through a duffle bag “I am” 

“You’re injured” 

“So is Clint,” Bucky retorted, “He can hardly run. And Rhody admitted his aim is shit with his broken wrist.” 

“That’s different” Steve said, digging deeper in the bag, not finding what he was searching for. 

“Bullshit” Bucky couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Steve was planning an all-out assault on HYDRA’s underground base smack in the middle of town. Like hell Bucky was going to let Steve go without him. “Riley is going”

“Riley is driving” Steve corrected, not looking up.

“Then let me drive.” 

“Buck–” 

“No. You can’t decide to do this alone.” Bucky was fuming, his anger the only thing holding him up. He hadn’t gotten much (if any) sleep last night – but then again, neither had Steve. Bucky had tried to get to sleep, really. But lying on his back was too close to the hours and hours spent on the table. With his busted ribs and the state of his arms, there wasn’t any other way to recline beside a chair. And with the lights off, the chair was a horror in and of itself. Bucky couldn’t shake the certainty that at any moment, shadows would overtake the room and he’d be back, that every time he closed his eyes, water would be dumped over his head because nobody had saved him. 

Bucky tried to put a lid on it, truly, but he couldn’t stop babbling; he wanted to go home, wanted Steve to get away before they came back. Because they always came back. Pain stopped temporarily and then they would come back. Bucky was pretty sure he kept half the house up last night, but nobody said anything besides demanding copious amounts of coffee that morning. 

“Jesus Bucky, I’m not going alone. Nat and Sam and Tony–”

“Are looking for very different things” Bucky insisted. He knew for a fact Natasha was very interested in the bounty Fury had on Peirce’s head. Tony was definitely in it for the potential stores of arms that hadn’t been at the warehouse. And Sam, Sam was a good guy, but the bomb threat was targeting the black community and the latest news – that Rumlow was directly responsible for the explosion nearly killing Riley – was fuelling a personal vendetta Bucky didn’t fault Sam for. Rhody would follow Sam, Clint would follow Natasha…Bruce would presumably be hunting for the rumored HYDRA lab. 

Which left Steve with Bucky. With Steve’s crazy scheme to hit HYDRA where they were already hurting: their wallet. If they could pull it off HYDRA would be crippled; limited weaponry, drugs, and money. Might take the fight out of them long enough to give Fury or the police an advantage. If it worked, and that was a rather large if, with no shortage of risk taking. Bucky had no intention of letting Steve go alone. 

“Look Buck” Steve said, standing wearily “You’re pretty beat up. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“And I don’t want you to get yourself killed” Bucky said, swaying. The skin beneath his bandages was beginning to thrum, but Bucky held his ground. “This isn’t just your choice.”

Steve deflated, looking miserable. “You’re a real jerk sometimes”

“Punk” Bucky replied, utterly spent. They been at it for almost half an hour, Bucky was drained. Reasonably satisfied with Steve’s unenthusiastic acceptance, Bucky found his way to the wall and tried not to look too relieved to be slumped against the surface. 

“Buck?” Steve said, muted “You’ll hang back though, right?” 

“Sure” Bucky said. He didn’t like lying to Steve, but the situation was desperate. “Long as you promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” Steve was pulling another gun from the bag. Bucky shook his head. Steve with a gun. Still looked wrong. 

“Don’t be a hero” Bucky said. 

“But the hero’s always make it” Steve said cheekily. Bucky contained a scream. Fucking Steve with his fucking optimism Jesus fuck. 

“That’s in the movies Stevie” Bucky said, strained “Not out here.”

“Alright Buck” Steve said, “I promise” 

-

Unlike the warehouse, there was no wall to blast through. A few approaches were tossed around, nobody was overly proud of their final entrance strategy – even if it was the most likely to work. 

The plan meant minimal weaponry, traveling light and fast in teams. Less guns blazing and more stealth; which none of them claimed to have any experience with aside from Sam and Rhody’s stint in the army. 

Simplicity was their best bet, Sam explained, nothing fancy. As long as everybody acted like they belonged and guns were used as a last resort, infiltrating the base should be very doable. Getting out would be another matter, but the garage doors leading to the parking structure were promising. 

And yet…Bucky couldn’t help but wonder morbidly if he was ever going to see some of these people – his friends – again. Especially as Natasha and Bruce drove off with Sam and Rhody in the trunk her black car. HYDRA wasn’t picky about the dead or alive part; they ran the risk of Sam and Rhody being shot at the check point before they could get inside to be delivered as bounty. 

Bucky was still wondering while he huddled outside of the back entrance with Tony, Clint and Steve, listening to Natasha over the radio Clint held. Natasha was wearing a tiny, expensive earpiece provided by Tony, and thanks to Rhody everyone had a vest. 

The most frightening accessory was the bag of silencers Natasha pulled from under a bed at Sam’s house to the groups – and Sam’s – surprise, for which she offered no explanation. 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he could actually kill somebody, but he was intent on protecting Steve. And himself, Bucky added. He intended to live. 

“You will not.” Natasha said icily over the line “I will take these men to Pierce personally” There was a pause, garbled noise “Fine.” She said “Banner, stay put.”

Bucky puffed out a cloud, bouncing his heel in the filthy slush. So far so good. Bruce would be able to overpower the guards, then find way to let them in. Clint had obscured the security camera with a well-aimed snowball, hopefully no one could see the four of them crouched around the door in this back alley. The overcast sky was helping, the whole town was seeped in faded grey and white, weight of snow thick in the air. 

Over the line, a few muffled thumps. Not two minutes later and the door swung open to reveal a slightly disheveled Bruce Banner. He waved them in, they filed along silently to avoid unwanted attention. Tony ducked in first, then Clint, limping a little. Bucky went last, sticking close to Steve and checking the descending staircase nervously. 

At the bottom of the stairs, three stark hallways stretched. Bucky hesitated, thankful he was last so the others missed his flash of fear. No. He was not going to be bested by a fucking hallway. He could do this. 

Swallowing his discomfort, Bucky followed Bruce as he gestured wordlessly. They took a right, a left, another right. Bucky ticked off landmarks in his mind, a broken bottle, spray paint on the wall, a flickering light. God, Bucky thought, were all HYDRA bases this uninspired? Or did they just find places with endless halls and musty smell on Craigslist? 

Bruce halted in front of an unmarked door, pointing and holding up two fingers. Great. First stop, two enemies. Bucky made brief eye contact with Steve, who nodded. Glancing back at Bruce, Bucky watched him mouth ‘Two, one’ and crank the door open. The room was brighter than the hallway, whitewashed walls vacant, reflective. Bucky caught the door and made it inside to watch Tony shoot a man sitting at the desk, watch Bruce slam the others head into the wall, throw him to the floor. Bucky’s heart was slamming against his ribs and he hadn’t even fired a shot. Shit. Tony and Bruce were terrifying. 

Clint shoved the dead guy out of the wheely office chair, tapped on the keyboard connected to a bank of computers. Bucky and Steve came up behind him while Tony and Bruce patted down the bodies. 

“Surveillance” Clint said, not bothering to whisper with the door shut. “And this” he hit another key “Is the map, showing where the cameras are.” 

Bucky started at the screens, taking it all in. The base wasn’t huge, but there were plenty of HYDRA members roaming around.

“There” Tony said, pointing, “I bet you anything the guns and money are in the vault”

Steve nodded. “We can head there next. Anybody see Natasha? She might need backup.” 

Clint snorted, waving a hand at the left corner of the screen. “I think she’s handling it” The blurry image showed a veritable pile of bodies scattered around where Natasha stood; Sam and Rhody were nowhere to be seen. She had her gun out, leveled at Pierce . 

Clint cranked up the volume on the radio again. 

“I wouldn’t worry about Rumlow” Natasha said, “I’m sure they just want to talk.” Bucky’s lips twitched in a smug half smile. Doubtless Rumlow had fled, but he wouldn’t make it far with Sam and Rhody in pursuit. 

“She has that under control” Clint said, “But they’re going to notice if Peirce is missing for long. If we’re doing this, now would be the time.”

“Got it.” Steve said. “Stark, you come with me. Banner, you’re free to look for the lab. Clint, Natasha is going to need back up eventually. Bucky you stay here.” Bucky opened his mouth to protest. “We need eyes.” Steve said shortly, pressing a radio into his hands. “Give us a heads up if anyone is coming our way.” 

Bucky knew he was being benched, but it wasn’t a bad plan. “Fine” Bucky said “But the countdown starts now.” 

Steve nodded. They had calculated how long it would take HYDRA to organize and call forces back, making escape impossible. 15 minutes. There weren’t any alarms blaring, but Natasha capturing Pierce was reason enough; the others agreed and they split up. Bucky sat down, facing a row of screens, tracking different teams as they hurried down corridors. 

“Steve, two men coming up on your left” Bucky said, failing to divide his attention between several screens at once. Steve and Tony nailed their opponents and stuffed them in a storage closet. Disaster one averted. 

The next seven minutes were a mess of hurried warnings and Bucky watching anxiously as separate fights spiraled around. Clint caught up to Natasha right as two pairs of hostiles boxed her in. The fight was quick and dirty; Pierce had Natasha at gunpoint for the ten seconds Natasha and Clint needed to silently communicate. They moved in sync, Natasha’s dive to the side timed perfectly with Clint’s shot. Pierce died with an arrow in his chest; Bucky had nearly forgotten the crossbow Clint strapped to his back. 

Almost simultaneously, Rhody and Sam caught up to Rumlow dashing toward a fire alarm when he was clotheslined by Bruce. The fight should have been over, but a small crowd Bucky had been watching since they left the mess hall stumbled upon them. Bruce, Sam and Rhody had enough warning to prepare, but that fight was still going on when Bucky turned back to check on Steve and Tony’s progress. 

They'd made it to the vault with virtually no resistance after the first run in. The most secure room was right off the garage, which was fine with Bucky. The faster they got out the better. Twelve minutes passed since they left, and judging by the incredulity in Tony’s voice, the three remaining weren’t enough to plunder this amount of weaponry or cash. 

A compromise was reached after discovering a box of grenades. If they couldn’t take it with them, total destruction was the next best thing. Bucky gave the all call for everyone to get the hell out. In spite of all the concrete, Bucky was fairly sure that throwing a grenade into a room filled with more grenades/flammable bills/explosive objects would damage the structural integrity of the bunker.

With everyone scrambling towards the surface, Bucky wasn’t attending to the camera projecting the hallway outside the surveillance room, didn’t notice the figure heading towards his door. Mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for an embarrassing truth…this chapter is un-beta'd. No one read these words but me, because my wonderful and beautiful girlfriend has been working herself to death at the bookstore. Which is a whole other thing. Nevermind. 
> 
> ANYWAYS - in light of my potential failures, if anybody can find 3 misspellings/mis-wording (hopefully there are none) I will post tomorrow instead of Thursday. Its like a scavenger hunt, but less fun. 
> 
> and WOW comments galore! Merci beaucoup to all of you. And kudos for discovering my gaping plot hole. I know nothing of drugs, (despite being a Criminal Justice Major) and therefore never clarified. Hence potential addiction not matching withdrawal symptoms. Sorry about that.
> 
> FINAL EPIC ENDING next chapter, then epilogue :) Thanks again for sticking around.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END IS NEAR. 
> 
> (and you all should be thanking kibethan for the early update, since you'd be waiting another day otherwise. seriously. go back and thank this perfect person)

The door swung open, Bucky spun around to see a tall, dark haired man who looked as surprised as Bucky. Faltering, Bucky realized his gun was on the desktop behind him, out of reach. Shit.

After a second of awkward eye contact, the man jolted and reached for his side holster. Bucky launched himself forward, throwing them both back into the hall. 

Falling, the man’s head smacked into the tiles with a sickening thwack.

Desperately ignoring pain from his ribs, Bucky fought to get his hands under him. Dazed, his opponent shoved a hand in Bucky’s face and reached for his gun. 

Shoving the hand away, Bucky swung viciously, cracking the man’s head back on the tiles, focusing all the anger of the past days to a single point. 

Bucky stopped, panting, when the alarm on his watch trilled. His hands were throbbing; the blood on Bucky’s knuckles was slick and holy shit– fuck– 

Bucky rolled off the man and threw up. He hadn’t been thinking, hitting again and again and again and he destroyed the guy’s face. He didn’t mean to– not like that– 

Not far away, a clap of thunder upset the quiet, tremors ground through the walls; Steve and Tony putting the finishing touches on their plan. Bucky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled to his feet, disgusted. He did that. Wasn’t any way around it. But now he needed to go. 

Running along the hall, fighting to catch his breath, Bucky realized he’d left his radio and his gun behind. Too late now. 

Counting corners, Bucky found a staircase, tumbling up and crashing into the freezing outdoor air. 

“James!” Natasha yelled. Searching for her, Bucky caught sight of a black jeep; running over he crawled in the back and joined Clint. “Did the others get out?” Bucky gasped, glancing between Clint and Natasha as she slammed the jeep into gear. “Where’s Steve?”

Spinning the tires on a patch of ice, Natasha shoved her radio at Bucky. “He’s being an idiot,” she hissed. “He found a truck wired to explode with enough C4 to destroy a building, and the timers stuck” Bucky’s world contracted, because fuck, shit, Steve would–

“You talk him out of this. Now.” Natasha commanded. 

Bucky fumbled the radio “Steve?”

“Little busy Buck” Steve said, voice crackling over the radio. 

“Steve, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, though he knew full well. 

“I don’t get rid of this, people are gonna die.” Steve’s words were forced. 

“Figure out where he is” Natasha growled. 

“You can’t–” Bucky choked, “Where are you going? There’s no place–”

Steve’s voice cut over a rush of static. “I can put it in the water.”

“NO” Bucky yelled, crushing the radio in his hand. Natasha slammed the brakes, pulling a U-turn and cussing in Russian under her breath. “Steve, don’t–”

“Not your choice” Steve said, voice wrecked. “Bucky, I’m sorry.” 

“Just – pull over. Get out.” Bucky pleaded. 

“There’s hardly a minute left” Steve said, “There’s no time.” 

Natasha rammed around a building, the docks came into view. 

“Steve–” Bucky started again. 

“I have to” Steve said, “But Bucky,” there was a ragged breath over the radio “Don’t ever think this was your fault. It’s not.” A block down, Bucky saw a truck hurtle into view. Natasha swerved, took out a chain link fence, closing the distance.

“I’m so sorry Buck,” Steve said “I shoulda said it sooner. I–”

The truck’s front tires passed off the end of the pier. Angled sharply, the truck plummeted out of sight. 

The jeep came skidding to a halt; Bucky was out the door without thinking, sprinting for the pier. Bucky heard Natasha screaming ‘JAMES’ but he didn’t break stride, diving head first into the water. 

The surface of the lake was a devastating, paralyzing shock. The water knocked the air from Bucky’s lungs, greedily sucking heat from his body. Kicking furiously, Bucky dove towards the sinking truck. He didn’t have a clue what would happen if the bomb when off now. Feeling was leeching out of Bucky’s legs as he forced the door open, blinking against the freezing water. 

Steve’s eyes were closed; he floated a few inches above the seat. Bucky grabbed Steve’s shirt, fingers barely responding, and hauled him from the truck. Bucky was out of air, pushing them through the water, countdown ticking away in his head. 

Breaking the surface, Bucky gulped air, struggling to keep Steve’s head above water. Bucky was completely numb, but the bank was close. These docks had been built into sloping gravel, Bucky gained ground inches at a time. 

The explosion was a pluming geyser, water twisting in the air. Waves slapped down hard, thin sheets of broken ice rammed into Bucky; the force of it shoving them to the shallows. Bucky found enough purchase to drag Steve out of the river, collapsing next to him on the hard, grinding rocks. 

Bucky rolled to face Steve. The smaller man’s hair was plastered to his forehead, face drained of color, clothes sticking to his skin. Bucky reached out, gave Steve’s shoulder a harsh shove. “Steve?” Bucky whispered, shaking, cold sapping his strength. 

Steve was limp for a moment, water barely leaking from the corner of his mouth before a string of worsening coughs wracked his frame. Bucky let the out the breath he was holding in a rush as Steve hacked up mouthfuls of river water. 

God, Steve was alive, twisting on his side and spitting up water. Bucky crammed that knowledge through his head to offset the terror that gripped him when the truck hit the river. Steve was alive. And Bucky was going to kill him. 

“WHAT THE HELL?” Bucky shouted, gathering every scrap of indignant fear burning in his chest “WHAT WAS THAT?” Bucky wasn’t being very articulate, was shivering too badly, had too much ice sealed inside to organize anything but nearly incoherent yelling. Steve turned his face toward him, nonplussed. 

“YOU DROVE A FUCKING TRUCK INTO A FUCKING RIVER HOLY SHIT” Bucky got out before running out of breath. “Fuck”

“Buck” Steve rasped, sitting up. 

“No.” Bucky was done with this shit. In the last week he'd been kidnapped, tortured, shot at, and in the last 10 minutes, most likely beaten a guy to death. He couldn't think, couldn't rationalize what was happening anymore. This wasn't fair, it didn't make any kind of sense to have this many horrific things happening all at once. And now this. Almost losing Steve. Bucky was done. 

Dragging himself up to Steve’s height, Bucky poked Steve in the chest. “What did I say about being a hero? But no, you wanted to freeze to death in the goddamn RIVER!” Bucky was sure he hadn’t yelled this much at anyone, ever - but he couldn't think of a single time he'd been as afraid as he was when the truck hit the river. “You are NEVER doing anything like that again. EVER. You hear me?”

Steve nodded mutely. 

“Good” Bucky growled. “Fucking ridiculous.” 

“Well said” Natasha said lightly, looking down at the two of them from the boardwalk. Steve shrunk in a little further, shamefaced. “Come on boys” she hopped down, boots crunching on the rocks. “Let’s get out of here before you both freeze.” She paced up, got them standing in turns. Back in the jeep the heater was blasting; Clint moved to the front seat while Steve and Bucky stripped to boxers when Natasha glared. 

Wrapped up in the car blanket, Steve and Bucky huddled together. Steve was quiet; Bucky was starting to feel bad for yelling at him. He meant what he said, but he'd been a little caught up in the nearly freezing to death part. Tugging Steve closer and wrapping his arms around him, Bucky rested his chin on the top of Steve’s head. 

Steve was shaking as badly as Bucky, but sat stiffly until Bucky squeezed his shoulders, pressed kisses in his damp hair. Steve huffed a breath and finally burrowed closer. Avoiding Bucky’s ribs, Steve rested his cheek below Bucky’s collarbone, drawing himself in and steadily making himself smaller. A few seconds passed and Bucky felt Steve’s face crumple against his chest, shoulders heaving. 

Bucky hushed him, rubbed his hands up and down his back, letting Steve cry. Steve’s chest was hitching with repressed sobs, trying to be quiet; he buried his face in Bucky’s neck, breath hot against Bucky’s freezing skin. This was okay, Bucky decided, burying his nose in Steve’s hair, whispering in his ear. As long as he could hold Steve, this was okay.

The jeep sped on, winding back across town to Clint’s shop, to their apartment. Steve gathered some composure by the time Bucky started recognizing buildings, hiccupping occasionally as he listened for news with the rest of them. 

Clint had been working on the sound-off; Tony and Bruce checked in, were safe at Bruce’s lab. Almost 5 minutes later, Natasha’s phone rang – Sam and Rhody were alive, Riley picked them up. Sam confirmed Bucky’s suspicion, Rumlow was dead. Paired with Natasha and Clint’s assassination of Peirce, HYDRA had been dealt a crippling blow.

In his search for a lab, Bruce had found a room of records – hard copies easier to defend and unhackable – and made off with the register of known HYDRA members and their locations. The police already received their anonymous tip. With their leader dead and the police hunting them down, the threat of HYRDA was nearly gone. 

Natasha dropped them off at the foot of their stairs, with strict orders to take a burning hot shower and get their butts down to the coffee shop because she said so. They were organizing and patching each other up at Clint’s instead of Sam’s; one last precaution with the police station only a block away and the midday foot traffic.

In their apartment, Bucky and Steve staggered to the bathroom, stripped, and crammed under the spray as the water heater sputtered. The water reached a temperature slightly below skin scorching capabilities; just right. Bucky’s bandages were soaked though again, which was gross, but Bucky didn’t care. He held on to Steve, rubbing his arms and making sure he got his share of the steaming water. 

As the shivering abated. Bucky’s hand came to Steve’s face, tipping his chin up. “Hey” Steve’s lashes were damp, eyes red, chest stuttering when he opened his mouth. 

“Sorry” Steve choked out, leaning into Bucky’s touch. Bucky ran his thumb along Steve’s jaw. 

“Scared me is all” Bucky said, tracing his fingers along the edge of Steve’s face. “Didn’t want you leaving me behind”

Steve bit his lip, eyes shining. “I didn’t mean to”

“Good” Bucky said, smiling “Cause I’m with you, punk. Till the end of the line.” Bucky dipped down, stole a kiss. Steve laughed into his mouth; it came out a little hysterical, but it was still a laugh. 

“Jerk”

“But I’m your jerk” Bucky reminded him. Framing Steve’s face with his hands, Bucky pressed their lips together, hungry for this, for Steve. They made out lazily until the hot water ran out. Stepping out a little giddy and lip sore, Steve helped Bucky towel off and peel away his soggy bandages. 

It wasn’t pretty; Bucky tried to hold on to his game face. Whatever drugs Natasha pushed at him that morning were starting to wear off, and the river water looked less then sanitary soaking against the cuts and burns. 

Steve quickly reached the conclusion that this was beyond him. They tossed on sweatpants, Steve wrapped Bucky up in a blanket in lieu of a scratchy sweater, and headed over to the coffee shop. 

The sign was off, curtains closed, but Rhody opened the door after the first knock.

They made an odd assortment, spread out around the shop. Clint was seated next to Natasha by the espresso machine, giving her pointers. Rhody returned to sit by Tony, who was squirming away from Pepper as she dabbed at the cuts on his chest. Shrapnel apparently, but nothing serious. 

Steve guided Bucky over to where Bruce was waiting by the fire. Handing over a few chalky pills, Bruce gave them both a stern lecture on the dangers of infection, what to look for, when to call him. Bucky clamped his jaw shut when Bruce slimed his arm with antiseptic and started wrapping it up, uncomfortably aware the process would be repeated on his other arm and chest.

Steve distracted Bucky with hot chocolate and giggling at Sam and Riley, who had fallen asleep in the same chair; Bucky was encased in gauze soon enough. The fire was going strong; leaning back on the couch Bucky breathed in warmth, content. No one was trying to kill them, and likely wouldn’t for some time. Steve was curled up, resting with his head in Bucky’s lap and making tiny snuffling sounds, humming with approval when Bucky rubbed his thumb on his neck.

Bucky was amazed they made it through the day. All of them. Sam and Riley, straight across, cuddled up stupidly cute in the massively plush armchair. At the counter, Clint and Natasha perched side by side, legs touching, talking quietly. Behind, Rhody and Pepper dismantling weapons, each click oddly reassuring. Bruce was on his feet, cornering Tony to inspect Pepper’s work. 

Draped over the couch, surrounded by people – friends – he trusted, Bucky tried to find a word for this. It wasn’t a feeling he was very familiar with, one he’d had a hard time holding onto over time. 

From a ways away, Sam was snoring gently in Riley’s hair. Bruce was scolding, Pepper and Tony bickering, Rhody laughing, Clint and Natasha still whispering in a language Bucky didn’t understand. Steve sighed, melting against Bucky. 

That’s what it was, Bucky realized lazily, watching the fire flicker, embers glowing. Safe. He felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's all there is, there ain't no more :) - 'Cept for some horribly indulgent crack fluff to be posted Friday. I don't even know what happened there. something. 
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful support and kudos and comments - not sure what I would have done without feedback. Something pathetic I'm sure. 
> 
> ANYWAYS. Thanks again for following along while I blundered around a multi-chapter fic. I'm fussing with another idea (a ridiculous concept with policemen and firefighters and crime from the other side of the spectrum.) but I'll take suggestions if anybody's got 'em.
> 
> Later!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE 
> 
> This is absurd domestic fluff. I have no good excuse.

Bucky backed Steve up to the wall, pinning his hands over his head. Mouthing at Steve’s throat, Bucky was rewarded with a short, involuntarily gasp as Steve’s back arched when Bucky moved to nip at his collarbone. 

“Buck–” Steve started, cutting off with a broken whimper as Bucky ground against him, nosing up to nibble at Steve’s ear. “Buck, we’re gonna be late”

“Now that you mention it,” Bucky said, leaning back to look in Steve’s dark eyes “That is a truly excellent idea” Bucky rolled his hips, earning another cut off groan. Steve squirmed, trying to free his arms. “Not yet” Bucky admonished, eyes bright. 

Ducking his head, Bucky returned to the side of Steve’s neck, picking a spot much too high for his collar to hide, and set about sucking a purplish mark on Steve’s pale skin. The others would tease him relentlessly, but Bucky didn’t care. He actually kind of loved it. 

Satisfied with his work, Bucky let Steve’s hands fall, laughing as Steve grabbed his face, pulling Bucky into a kiss that was familiar and not. The way Steve’s fingernails scratched at the short hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck (the haircut was totally worth it), how Bucky could wrap his arms around Steve, fingers exploring under Steve’s shirt as he rucked it up. The rushed, perfect way their kisses had changed since December, from something sweet and cautious to this. Hot and heavy and always a little desperate. 

Growing impatient, Bucky hoisted Steve up and dumped him on the bed, shedding his shirt and crawling after him. Steve gave another halfhearted protest – ‘Really, Bucky, really, really late’ – and caved. Steve’s shirt hit the floor beside Bucky’s in seconds. 

Grinning, Bucky settled in the v between Steve’s legs, elbows bracketing the smaller man’s head. Steve was staring back with a wry smile of his own, cheeks pink, hair mussed. 

They kissed for a while, Bucky torturing him by worrying sharply at Steve’s lower lip then lapping the sting away. Steve retaliated, licking back to Bucky’s molars, bumping their noses as they changed angles and refusing to back off till they were panting into each other’s mouth.

Eventually Steve resorted to dirty tactics, rocking up against Bucky till he jerked unconsciously back; Steve used the distraction to tip him over, scramble on top. Straddling Bucky’s chest, Steve ran his hands over the paling scars, leaning in to press kisses on the fine white lines and sheen of burns decorating Bucky’s chest and shoulders and arms. 

Bucky shuddered under Steve’s touch, the light pressure skating over skin he could feel and other places where sensation was lost. Since the destruction of HYDRA, Steve never once shied away from the marks Zola left. Even before Bucky’s ribs fully healed, Steve refused to let Bucky hide his scars from him. Steve took the utmost care when casually running his fingers over the burns, glaring daggers at customers who openly gaped and made Bucky desperate for a glove – something, anything to cover the blotchy, discolored skin. Steve wouldn’t have it. 

“God Buck” Steve said, settling back on his hips, tracing around the starburst pattern below Bucky’s ribs, faded bullet wound from a lifetime ago. “You know how much I love you, right?” 

“Love you too” Bucky said softly, reaching up to trace his thumbs along the hollow of Steve’s narrow hips. Steve’s blush deepened. Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t contain a grin. “Such a sap”

“Jerk” Steve said fondly. 

“Punk” At that, Steve ground down, twisting his hip cruelly as he ran his hands over Bucky’s side. Bucky’s broken moan turned into a growl as he fought to sit up because he absolutely, unconditionally needed the taste of Steve’s lips in his mouth right now. 

“Not yet” Steve said, shoving Bucky’s shoulders back so hard he bounced against the mattress. “For that, you have to wait” Bucky’s grumbling cut short when Steve popped the button on Bucky’s jeans, eyes bright, smile wicked. 

They were going to be really, really late. 

-

Thirty minutes later Steve and Bucky stumbled into Stark Improvements, shaking off the light rain and trying to swallow their giggles. It was Steve’s fault, Bucky thought, throwing Steve another exasperated look. Bucky had it under control on the walk over, was completely composed. Which Steve apparently interpreted as a sign to grope his boyfriend’s ass when they rushed through the door. 

Behind the reception desk Pepper quirked a smile but didn’t comment. Tony was less charitable. “Late” Tony said, glancing up and giving them a once over “Oh gross. You two are disgusting.” 

Bucky shrugged, Steve remained entirely too pleased for destroying Bucky’s ‘we-were-definitely-not-late-because-we-were-having-sex’ face. 

“Come on boys” Pepper said, standing “Who wants to go first?” They followed her into the tattoo parlor, squabbling over who would be first as she snapped on gloves. Steve wanted to because it was his design; Bucky finally sighed and muttered vaguely about wanting to get it over with before he psyched himself out. It was only halfway to a lie. Almost nobody touched his left arm but Steve. 

Bucky’s slight apprehension won out over Steve’s artistic license. Bucky sat back in the chair, rolled up his sleeve and let Pepper get to work. 

The buzzing was a little unsettling, but Bucky held out, crushing Steve’s fingers and arguing with Tony about the uselessness of social media. Steve’s was longer, needed a few breaks to shake off the tension as the design spread out over his chest. The process was easily over two hours, but the final product was worth it. 

Standing in front of the well-lit mirrors, Steve and Bucky compared their completed works. On Bucky’s left shoulder, Pepper had inked two concentric circles, smeared blue and red and sliver, star outlined in the middle. The colors weren’t garish, but distracted some attention from the chaos of burns. Steve designed it with Bucky’s raw, messy skin in mind, sketching around the burns that wouldn’t hold the design, incorporating scars as cracks and blemishes across the surface of the shield.

Bucky had been the one to suggest they take Pepper up on her offer for a free tattoo one afternoon, flipping through the pages of Steve’s many old sketchbooks. He loved the cartoons Steve drew forever ago – countless heroes and villains battling in the streets before Steve’s dad died, back when they were both growing up blocks away in New York. 

Steve brushed it off, something about being ‘childish’ until Bucky cornered him on a Friday afternoon. Kissing him senseless, Bucky informed Steve that since there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop Steve from being a hero, they might as well accept their fate as vigilantes and defend truth, justice and whatever (Bucky became markedly less eloquent once they hit the bed. 

Joking aside, Bucky eventually convinced Steve to draw him something. ‘I promise, I’m not ashamed,’ Bucky said, honest and open when Steve stubbornly refused to let him hide his arm. ‘I’d just like to have marks on my skin I chose to put there.’ Bucky’s determination won over, and here he was. Inked up and grinning stupidly at the splash of color on his shoulder. Bucky bumped his head into Steve’s, proud and happy and amazed at what they’d done. 

Steve bumped back, just as pleased. Spreading from the center of Steve’s chest was the same five-point star, shaded for definition, dark bold silhouette across Steve’s pale skin. 

The star was flanked with horizontals lines, angled down. Red and blue lines made up the complicated sketch beneath – an eagle with wings spread wide, outlined with the same circle pattern as Bucky’s star. Both their tattoos matched a character from Steve’s drawings, a masked hero who always managed to keep his identity a secret. 

They spent a few minutes staring at each other in the mirror until Tony yelled at them to get out or help him load M16s he was pawning off on the other side of the city. Steve’s work over the last month, to reduce the number of semi-automatics in their part of town, was pretty effective without the threat of HYDRA. The police were reporting a notable decrease in civilian casualties. 

It wasn’t all sunshine and daisies. Tony lost a shipment last month that (briefly) put him out of favor with Fury. Natasha’s involvement been neither confirmed nor denied. Tension ran high for a week before fizzling out. The rest of the team had passed the last few months in similar shades of trials and success.

Thor returned stateside without warning mid-January, showing up at the coffee shop one icy afternoon. Jane marched up, slapped him, and stormed out as Darcy ran after her with a what-can-you-do shrug. The drama blew over quickly; on February 15th Bucky ooh’d and aww’d with the rest of them over Jane’s sparkly engagement ring. 

Sam and Riley had been staring down their last deployment when Rhody called in a few favors. Using his clout from under the table dealings, Rhody got them out of the air and behind the controls of a new generation of experimental drones to the silent, collective relief of everyone. 

Bruce narrowly avoided a raid on his lab during the first week of March following a string of too many good Samaritan acts. The experimental AIDS treatment he was offering up for next to nothing made him a little too popular. Teaming up with Natasha (who sold exclusively for Banner since the fall of HYDRA) they reached a new agreement. 

Bucky was almost positive Natasha offered up some of the bounty she earned from killing Peirce to fund Banner’s new “legitimate” clinic to serve as a more convincing front. She'd been remarkably generous of late. Bucky suspected this was related to the rumor she moved in with Barton; he'd seen her wrapped up in Barton's archery club hoodie more than once in the past week. Bucky was also positive that if he asked Natasha about his theory, she would kill him. He wisely decided to keep his musings to himself. 

Life was carrying on as usual, Bucky thought, chasing Steve up the stairs to their apartment because he could. They dumped the groceries on the counter; Bucky flopped on the couch and laughed at Steve as he fussed around, straightening things. 

“Come on Stevie, the rain’ll let up by the afternoon. Weather man said so.” Bucky drawled, craning his neck to watch Steve move a stack of books from one corner of the room to another. Bucky smiled, bit his tongue. It didn’t matter where Steve put them, the apartment was in a permanent state of organized chaos. Over the past few months, cooped up and healing from the HYDRA mess, Bucky amassed a collection of books to rival small libraries. It was his personal goal to put Half Priced Books out of business. 

Steve ran out of shelf space, fast, and the piles were only growing. Fortunately for both of them, Bucky accidentally snagged a cookbook as February rolled around. From then on, Bucky’s time had split between devouring paperbacks and baking while he worked through the rough patches. Healing cuts and burns was a matter of time, dealing with the rest of it wasn't as straight forward. Knowing HYDRA was being systematically dismantled was the kind of logical thinking that worked, for the most part, during the day. Sure, leaving the apartment took time, people moving abruptly in his peripheral caught him off guard, but Bucky wanted to be brave for Steve. 

Once the sun went down, all bets were off. Falling asleep started off as an unacceptable risk that wore both of them down, shortening tempers and fraying nerves. Natasha and Sam proved to be godsends. Dropping by periodically, they would stay up with Bucky while Steve caught up on sleep, asking him the hard, uncomfortable questions Steve shied away from. It helped. Getting the words out made it possible to say them again, and again. Talking things over lessened the vague horror, helped pin point the details triggering panic attacks. 

Gradually, things changed. Steve got better at talking Bucky down from nightmares, on other nights, Bucky returned the favor for Steve. It was tough, they didn't always know what to do or say, but they did it together. 

" _Steve_ " Bucky insisted, amused and exasperated. "We were promised sunshine. It'll be fine" 

“Yeah well” Steve said, grabbing an armload of Bradbury and Scalzi to dump in their bedroom “If it does rain, you’ll thank me”

-

Thirty minutes later the sky was crystal clear, sun burning a hole in the blue. Bucky crawled out the window onto the fire escape, holding the railing and taking the steps two at a time. 

Steve was already on the roof, shaking water off the tarp they threw over the lawn chairs. Bucky smirked at him on the way to the barbeque. “Oh shut up” Steve said, all the irritation of his comment lost when he grabbed Bucky’s t-shirt and unsuccessfully attempted to kiss the smile off Bucky’s face. 

Staggering in the direction of the grill when Steve pushed him off for biting, Bucky dropped a package of hotdogs on the table and crouched to twist the propane cap. Igniting the gas, Bucky checked his watch, stomach growling. He lost chip privileges last week by eating two thirds of the Lays before anyone else arrived. 

Stepping to the edge of the roof, Bucky looked out, surveying their corner of the town. Around the corner, the roof of the Recruitment Center, across the street, Stark Improvements and blocks beyond that the dark walls of Nick’s bar. In the opposite direction, the police station, crouching at the base of the hill that led up into Norseland. Somewhere on the hill, Banners new clinic was being built. 

Directly below, people meandered by on the sidewalk, trickling out of Clint’s coffee shop as he closed up for an hour to join them and the rest of the gang on the roof. Bucky thought it was a little cheesy, but Steve was adamant about having a BBQ on the first day of spring. 

Standing there, watching streets crawl with cars, buildings gleam in the aftermath of rain, Bucky guessed he could understand what Steve saw in it. The combination of rain and sun had finally, finally blown away and melted the last of the snow. 

And honestly, Bucky decided, glancing back to find Steve watching him, feeling a familiar warmth in his chest, it was about time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. Because I am the benevolent overlord of this AU, I have the power to command eternal happiness. Or at least, minimal injury and healthy coping mechanisms. 
> 
> I wish there was a more eloquent way to say thank-you, again, you're all incredibly wonderful readers/comment-ers/kudos-ers and I loved having you along for the ride. 
> 
> You all made my summer that much better and I can't believe my weird/slightly unconventional AU caught this much attention. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. 
> 
> So long for now :)


End file.
